


Happenstance

by osunism



Series: Lightning In A Bottle [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-21
Updated: 2015-03-08
Packaged: 2018-03-08 11:46:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 38,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3208025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/osunism/pseuds/osunism
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the Conclave came to an abrupt end in a shower of rubble and sickly green light, Hadiza was sure she was done for. Well, she wasn't. [ Includes art. HIATUS ]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Are You Serious?

**Author's Note:**

> So, I realize this likely won't get a lot of traffic mainly because my writing is an acquired taste. However, I wanted to get this out here because I am a newbie to the DA fandom and I've done a consecutive playthrough over the last few months including Inquisition. I can see why everyone loves the franchise. When I started playing my Inquisitor, whose picture I may actually include in this fic, I didn't expect her to develop into a writable OC. Yet...here I am. Her origin story is up and running as well and will be referenced throughout this fic if you want to check it out. Thanks for reading and feel free to leave a comment or kudos if you liked the work. :)

            It was hard to believe, but there it was: a hole blown open in the sky directly to the Fade and demons and Maker knew what else were raining down from it to shower Thedas in chaos. The explosion that caused it had blistered the valley of the Temple of Sacred Ashes, and all who were there—mage, Templar, and Chantry clergy.

            The Divine.

            Only one had been spared the horror, only one had ben pulled from the glittering waste where the most sacrosanct place in Andrastian hearts once stood. She had been said to walk out of the Fade itself, with a bright shadow behind her in the shape of a woman.

            Now they were calling her the Herald of Andraste.

            Hadiza Trevelyan knew this to be the lie born of fear and wonderment at the unknown, but truth be told, she knew no more than her captors turned advisors. All she had was the mark on her hand, a brand in a shape none could place, it’s faintly glowing lines running contour along her left arm, glowing brightly when a Fade rift was nearby.

            Hadiza had been running the Inquisition for several weeks and the only thing she kept thinking whenever one of these awestruck backwater bumpkins greeted her was “Are you fucking serious?”

            She had been traveling with a band of mercenaries—a bunch of apostates and rogues, to be honest—to bear witness to what was to be a turning point in the war. She had only wanted to see what became of the chaos and if it were safe enough for her to return home to Ostwick.

            She bit her lip thinking of Ostwick, digging her nails into the soft wood of the war table as she stared hard at the map of Thedas before her. Several pins were awaiting her attention in Fereldan, and she still had not gone to Val Royeaux to speak to the Chantry Mothers regarding clearing her name and establishing an accord that the Inquisition might operate in full authority.

            She took a deep breath and looked up.

            “Are you alright?” It was that blonde Commander…Cullen. He was a former Templar, and that put her on edge enough as it was, but…so far he’d shown no signs of wanting to Silence her or brand her forehead and cut her off from her soul.

            She shuddered.

            “I’m fine.” She said quietly, then after a moment, she indicated one of the pins on the map, “Leliana, send your people to investigate this Cult of Andraste.”

            Leliana inclined her head in silent acquiescence.

            “Commander,” Hadiza felt the confidence return to her voice though her head fair reeled to think on the fact that she had somehow become the de facto leader of an organization that was once spoken about with abject terror, “Get your men started on those watch towers in Redcliffe. That should suffice…and Ambassador? Tell that idiot,” She indicated another pin on the map, near Highever, “ _No_ ; kindly if you please. If we’re trying to build this organization’s influence, these nobles need to know we’re not a band of mercenaries and thugs to hire out whenever they lose control of their authority.”

            “As you wish,” They both said simultaneously and Hadiza felt the weight of command grow heavier on her shoulders. Cassandra stood beside her, stalwart as always. Hadiza rubbed her temples. Her advisors would be busy with those missions a while, and so that left her job. She traced a path along the map from Haven to the Storm Coast, her expression grim. Cullen watched her hands. She was mapping her travel, of course, and he had an urge to take those delicate hands and guide them in a safer direction. He cleared his throat, as if his very thoughts were audible and sought to cover them up.

            “Alright,” Hadiza came to whatever decision she made in her head, and her advisors were quickly learning that this was just who she was, “Cassandra, get the others. I spoke with a young man this morning regarding a certain Iron Bull. We’re going to meet them here.” She indicated a spot on the Storm Coast.

            “That is quite a journey,” Cassandra said, “When do you want to leave?” Hadiza shrugged.

            “As soon as we’re energetic enough to saddle up. As you said, it is a long journey and like as not there’s to be all manner of horseshit on the way. See to preparations and that the others are informed. We can leave in the morning.”

            And with that, Hadiza dismissed her council. When they departed the War Room, Hadiza was the last to leave, and she lingered in the War Room, feeling the confidence and nervousness that wracked her ebb.

            She was simply Hadiza once more, and terribly frightened because she had no idea how to lead this group of seasoned warriors, mages, and spies. She had never truly seen battle yet she had been trained for it at an early age. Yet, in her 29 years, 14 of them were spent in the plush confines of Trevelyan manor, and the last 15 had seen her trapped in the Circle of Ostwick until its annulment this past year gone by following the Kirkwall Rebellion. She had spent the remaining months on the run from Templars and opportunistic mages alike, falling in with a mercenary band that was arguably no better than either faction, but safety in numbers, right?

            And even still, during that time on the run the fighting was reduced to the occasional skirmish where she played a bit role and tended to healing the wounded or helping to strip and bury the dead. Since the events of the Conclave, she’d been fighting for what felt like every hour of every day. She’d closed ten Fade rifts, fought countless demons, and had left even more mages and Templars smoldering in the Hinterlands. She’d seen more battle in the past few months since the Inquisition’s declaration than she had in her short life.

            Hadiza rubbed her hands over her face and sighed at the very thought that she was about to fling herself into danger yet again.

            She had no idea what she was doing.


	2. Templars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dragons, and Templars, and Mages...oh my!

            The Inquisition was gaining speed, and Hadiza didn’t know if it was her on-the-fly War Room strategy or her advisors being more capable than she was, but the Inquisition was gaining speed and fame. Nobles were whispering in salons about the Herald of Andraste, the common folk she had helped and saved in the Hinterlands were praising her deeds and name, and she had recruited more agents far and wide in Ferelden alone.

            It was a shame about the Chantry not backing her when they had the chance, or things might have gone a lot smoother.

            Now, with a Grey Warden joining her cause, Hadiza felt the ease of command grow. It was easier to strategize, easier to learn how to depend on the strength of her advisors and learn not to underestimate her own instincts as she developed them.

            There was also that business about the Commander.

            Their first real conversation had been had in the camp where the soldiers trained, and they hadn’t really gotten to finish…Cullen had so much to do and she had so many places to go after all, but she found that he was not at all what she expected.

            “So, tell me…what was Kirkwall like? I’ve never been myself.” Hadiza said to him one bright, crisp morning. He was overseeing the training, as usual, and he looked pensive, something Hadiza had come to expect of all Templars. They were a grim lot, she knew.

            “Ah, well, the Qunari attempted to conquer the city, an apostate blew up the Chantry, and the Knight Commander went mad. Other than that, it was fine.” He said and his expression never changed. It took a full string of five breaths for Hadiza to realize he was being sarcastic.

            Cullen watched her a moment, wondering if she got the joke.

            _And then she laughed._

Cullen had never thought he’d want to bottle a sound in his life, but there was something about her laugh that was infectious and he felt himself smiling despite himself. Hadiza grinned, her dark face alive and glowing, her bright, silver eyes twinkling.

            “Oh well, well, the corners of your mouth actually turn up, Commander.” She teased and Cullen felt his face grow hot. He cleared his throat, a nervous habit in addition to rubbing the back of his neck. Hadiza was beautiful, he couldn’t deny that, and her laugh was…it was throaty and full and it made his stomach and heart do things he was terrified of acknowledging.

            So he deflected, instead.

            “Yes, well…I am not a complete stick in the mud, as Varric would call me. It’s just…with the end of the world at our door, it is hard to find reasons to be so glib.” He sighed, stealing a glance at the breach that swirled in the valley not far from them. Hadiza’s gaze followed his, her expression taking on an air of solemnity.

            “Yes, I can see how that would be a problem. Still, ‘tis easier to bear when we can find the bright spots where we can, eh?” Cullen smiled at her and she tipped her head. He took her in, her light, stylish mage-centric armor, yet…

            “You don’t carry a staff?” Cullen asked. Hadiza blinked as if momentarily confused.

            “Say again?” She breathed, looking around. Cullen chuckled.

            “It’s just…you are a mage, are you not? Yet you do not carry a magical staff.” He gestured somewhat behind her, indicating there was no staff present at her back. Hadiza grinned.

            “Ah. _Ah._ I do it is just not visible.” She reached for the strange object hanging from her belt. It was a small stave, with a large opal at the base of the blade, shot through with glowing, fiery veins. As she unbuckled it Cullen was shocked to see it extend, parallel to the ground, into a full glaive. Hadiza squeezed her hand in a subtle motion and it retracted to its compact form where she returned it to her belt.

            “How…?” Cullen began. Hadiza laughed softly.

            “Remind me to tell you the story behind it when this is all over, Commander,” She replied, indicating James, his assistant, who stood waiting with a report in hand. Cullen reluctantly tore his gaze from her to reassume his duties. Hadiza turned and left, and for the first time in a while Cullen felt something stirring in his chest that he’d written off as old ashes to be swept away.

            The days were long but they were made longer when Hadiza had to ride out into the unknown with only three of the Inquisition’s fighters to guard her. Leliana was not the Divine’s Left Hand without just cause and she kept a bead on the Herald’s movements throughout the Hinterlands. Reports of Hadiza’s exploits trickled in daily in the weeks she was gone.

            “A dragon?” Cullen asked, incredulous as he looked over the thick report he’d been handed. James, still as bright-eyed and wet behind the ears as any raw recruit gave a firm nod.

            “Yes, ser,” He said, “Her Worship had the scales and bones sent back. She says the blacksmith might make use of them for armor and weapons.” Cullen’s eyes skimmed the report again. It was written in Hadiza’s steady, neat hand. She was a noble and a mage, her handwriting was as elegant as a bird song, but there it was, three pages in. She, Cassandra, Iron Bull, and Vivienne had run afoul of a dragon’s den in the Hinterlands. After a grueling battle against the matriarch, they had finally felled the beast and stripped it for parts. Cullen’s mouth set in a grim line.

            “Alright,” He said to James, “See to it that the smith is notified. I want to see to improving the armor of our troops straight away.”

            “Ser!” James saluted, one fist over his heart, and left. Cullen rubbed his temples.

            A dragon?

 

 

            It was a full four weeks before Hadiza and her party returned, road-weary and exhausted, riding up to Haven looking no worse for wear. Cullen was outside training with his troops when the scouts spotted them. Hadiza led from the front, sitting straight-backed and proud in the saddle, her coat worn and dusty, her hair hastily pulled back from her face to be tied at her nape. The sun beat down particularly hard that day, and yet its warmth was muted by the biting cold of the Frostbacks, and the interference of the still-open Breach to the west.

            As Hadiza dismounted, Cullen noted with alarm that she nearly collapsed, wincing as she tried to stand. She was clearly injured and Cassandra was the first to offer a strong arm of support to get her inside.

            “What happened, Seeker?” Cullen demanded. Cassandra shook her head but Hadiza sighed.

            “A rift I tried to close spit out some demons that were…a lot more than we bargained for. You ever had to face down a pride demon, Commander?” She winced as she laughed, her hand going to her ribs. He belatedly noted the russet stain of old blood on her undershirt beneath the coat.

            “We rode here as fast as we were able, but the demons aren’t the only ones we had to fight. The fighting is thickest just past the Crossroads. Herald, we need to get you to Mother Giselle at once.” Cassandra said firmly. Hadiza waved her hand, already too tired and hurting to speak or protest.

            Cullen felt a growing sense of alarm as he watched them pass through the gates and head to the Chantry.

            “Lieutenant take over for me.” He said curtly, and not waiting for a reply, he followed Cassandra and Hadiza into Haven and subsequently the Chantry.

            It was worse than Hadiza had let on. While her mage abilities had healed the more serious wounds, the ones she had sustained fighting against both Templars and mages had come when she’d drained her mana and had precious little lyrium left during their race back to Haven.

            She sat on a table, looking remarkably pensive as Mother Giselle stitched the gash at her ribs. Her torso was bare and her back was to him but he could see the definition of muscle in there, like when she attempted to roll her shoulders but Mother Giselle steadied her. She hissed and winced occasionally, but Cullen saw the lock of her jaw and knew she was only trying to be strong.

            “Mother Giselle, is she…?” Cullen started.

            “Commander, that you?” Hadiza looked at him over her shoulder and he immediately went red in the face. How daft of him! The woman was nearly naked and here he was bumbling in like some worried mother hen. He cursed his lack of forethought.

            “Commander,” Mother Giselle said without missing a beat, smiling as she met his eyes, “The Herald is fine. Allow us some privacy that I may finish.” Cullen reluctantly acquiesced and left the healing room.

            Cassandra was waiting outside the healing chamber, looking severe as was her usual wont.

            “She refused to come back on a litter,” Cassandra said darkly, “Of all the foolish, prideful things. She said she did not want the people to see her in such a state.” Cassandra made a sound of disgust.

            “The people see her as a symbol of hope; a symbol that says this madness that haunts our doorstep will end. I can understand her wanting to uphold that hope for the people’s sake.” Cullen argued calmly. Cassandra snapped up from her lean, throwing up her hands.

            “At what cost? She will not close the Breach if she is dead, Cullen. It is my fault, truly. I lost sight of her in the fray, and we knew she was low on mana so she was relying on myself and Bull for cover. We were separated, and I saw when she was struck down.” Cassandra grit her teeth. Cullen understood. There was a certain sense of…dedication that was instilled in all Templars to the point where they became their own harsh judges. Any failure on their part to protect those in their charge was a grievous failure, no matter how small it seemed. Although they were no longer as tethered to the Order as they once were, it was not an instinct one simply packed away.

            Cullen knew he would no doubt feel the same way had he been in Cassandra’s position.

            The door to the healing room swung open and out stepped Mother Giselle. Her hands were wet, no doubt from washing away the blood, and she glanced between Cassandra and Cullen, her face taking on a gentle, knowing look.

            “She sleeps,” Mother Giselle said, answering Cassandra before she could ask, “I have given her a tincture to ease the pain and help her rest. She will recover in a few days time enough to be able to move about again. Until then, she needs rest.”

            It was all they could hope for, truly.


	3. Replenish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hadiza gets to know some people and takes a trip into the Fallow Mire.

            During her recovery, Hadiza did a lot of thinking. With their forces bolstering and agents being gained all over the Hinterlands, Haven was quickly becoming cramped and virtually miserable. The small Chantry was not enough to house herself, advisors, Chantry sisters and brothers, and some of the more sickly elders in the village. Haven was a terrible and indefensible position and should their base be discovered Hadiza knew the only ending could be _the_ ending for them.

            Reading the daily reports that trickled in from the corners of Thedas she had managed to touch in the months following the Conclave, Hadiza was feeling more and more overwhelmed. This seemed like something Cassandra, Josephine, or Leliana should have been doing as they seemed more capable. Had not Cassandra and Leliana been deigned the Right and Left hand of the Divine respectively? Had they not been the ones to declare the Inquisition reborn?

            With a sound of frustration Hadiza set the reports down on the rickety wooden table by her cot, looking down at her left hand. It was as if someone had grafted the corrupted green crystal of a rift into her skin, the sickly glow marching along the seemingly abstract lines in tiny flashes like a blade in the sun. It had stopped spreading after the first night when she closed the large rift at the Temple, but its lines remained.

            “Do you think it will stay that way for the rest of your life?” Hadiza glanced up. She had not expected Cassandra to come and visit her. Hadiza bit her lower lip. Of all of her companions, Cassandra seemed to be the only one concerned with her well-being in relation to the brand that gave her the strange power to mend the Veil.

            “I can’t be sure. If closing that rift stopped it from spreading but didn’t shrink it, I can only imagine that mending the Breach will not remove it either. But that’s only a guess. My understanding of the mechanics of the Fade is limited to what the Circle allowed us to access.” Cassandra nodded, understanding, leaning easily against the wall.

            “Perhaps it was the Maker who marked you, knowing you would survive. Had you not…the entire world would have been torn asunder, and all our efforts for naught.” Cassandra wanted to believe that Hadiza was chosen, but in truth, Hadiza herself believed that she had simply interrupted a spell. The Maker could not have wanted the world He supposedly made to be torn in twain by demons and spirits falling through the Breach.

            What deity who claims to be a compassionate and benevolent one would allow such suffering?

            And why take the Divine? A woman who embodied everything the Chantry stood for?

            “Perhaps,” Was all Hadiza said, not wanting to voice her own questions about the Maker’s absence, “But we will never know until we get out there and solve this problem will we?”

            “You are right,” Cassandra agreed, “And since you are our best chance at winning back against whoever or whatever wrought this, I swear to do a better job at defending you in battle. You mages are not known for your defensive abilities.”

            Hadiza made a face. Had Cassandra just teased her? She looked more closely. There it was, a ghost of a smile, almost a smirk.

            “Well it’s not as if anyone ever really tries to kill us,” Hadiza retorted, “…oh _wait_.” And then Cassandra did smile.

            “I suppose you are right in that respect. I’ll leave you to your rest, Herald. Get on the mend soon. Everyday we spend here we give to our enemies.”

            Hadiza nodded as Cassandra turned to leave. Looking back down at her branded hand, she sighed.

            Perhaps it had to be her after all.

 

 

 

            It was some time after her initial recovery that Hadiza was able to walk about again without wincing. Her stitches had already been removed and the wound was healing with minimal scarring. She stretched and went through all the movements the healer had told her to do to keep the scar from getting tight and restricting her, then she went outside to breathe deep the cold, wintery air because her tiny chamber was becoming a prison. Using her staff for support, she made her way through the tiny village, occasionally offering a wave to the denizens who greeted her warmly and kindly. She heard the sound of metal ringing against metal, and grunts and strained sounds that could only mean the soldiers were training. She was curious to watch, only she knew that Templar would be there.

            So she went to Varric’s little camp instead. The dwarf was sitting by a fire, warming his hands when she came upon him.

            “Well, well,” Varric said, “Finally had enough being an invalid, Herald?” He spoke with a chuckle, but his voice was the kind that made one relax. You wanted to trust the rogue, but honestly Hadiza could not see where the harm would be in that. She scratched her head.

            “I just want them to clear me so we can get back out there. We’ve still got a lot of work to do, and…” She found herself borrowing Cassandra’s words, “…everyday we spend here is another we give to our enemies.” She sighed, and Varric wordlessly offered a place by the fire with a gesture. Sitting, Hadiza felt too old for her own skin already.

            “Well, you went from prisoner to hero, to Herald of Andraste all in one day. Are you feeling alright? I mean…I’d think most people would spread all of that out over more than one day.”

            Hadiza laughed despite herself. It was true. What bits she could remember before the explosion were full of holes, but after she’d woken up she found herself in chains and being interrogated by a very angry Seeker. She had only come because the Circle of Ostwick had not wanted to involve themselves in the war—and they were one of the few Circles that remained intact despite the chaos. They had sent her in hopes of using her family name to win the sympathy of the Divine during the Conclave. She had merely been a messenger sent to appeal to the humanity of those much higher in status than she. She had never counted on a place like the Temple being so desecrated in such a way. She had only done this…she’d only done it to go outside the Circle, and to breathe the free air for a time. Ostwick likely thought she was dead.

            “None of this shit should have happened,” She said bitterly, “I was only here to do something good on behalf of mages. It would be the one time I could actually put my name to good use and it quite literally blew up in my face.”

            Varric chuckled.

“You don’t know the half of it. So you think you’re chosen or lucky?”

“Would you mind if I said I didn’t think either was a good option? I didn’t ask for this.” She flexed her marked hand. Sometimes it felt like it itched but she couldn’t scratch it…not directly.

“Well no hero ever _asks_ to be a hero. The ones who do usually end up dead before the story even picks up any traction. So, lucky then?”

“Most assuredly lucky to be alive, but if we don’t stop the hole in the sky from shitting demons on us, I can’t readily say any of us are lucky at all.”

She stood up to leave as Varric laughed.

 

 

Hadiza liked Cullen, despite his perpetual frown. He had a firm head on his shoulders, and while she didn’t usually let him lead missions from the war table that required a little more finesse, when she _did_ set him loose, he was efficient and reliable.

As a Templar should be.

The next time they spoke it was quieter, as they were near the Chantry. Hadiza was cupping her hands and breathing on them to keep the feeling in her fingers.

“Not used to the cold, are you?” Cullen asked and Hadiza smiled.

“Back in Ostwick it gets cold, but it’s a wet cold because we’re so close to the sea. But in the Circle most of the halls and chambers are kept warm via magic. This dry cold? Disrespectful.” She blew on her hands again. Cullen laughed. He watched her hands, noting how delicate they looked. He imagined they were soft, a noble woman’s hands. He imagined her fingertips trailing along his cheek, imagined what it might feel like to—

“What are you doing?” He asked as Hadiza’s brows furrowed in obvious concentration. There were little flashes of reddish light arcing in her cupped hands and then…a tiny flame. Cullen tensed out of reflex. Magic still made him uneasy and he silently cursed himself for thinking Hadiza would ever seek to harm him. She was a mage, and he had been wrong before.

But he had also been right.

“Much better.” Hadiza sighed and then looked at him, her expression melting into concern. “You okay? You look a bit…”

“It’s nothing,” Cullen said quickly, “I just wasn’t…isn’t it frowned upon to use your magic in such a way?” He asked her, trying to change the subject. Hadiza’s expression went neutral but there was a defensiveness to her tone.

“Going to apprehend me, Templar? Haul me off in chains for trying to keep myself warm?” Cullen’s eyes went wide.

“No!” He exclaimed, completely apologetic, “I didn’t mean…oh Maker’s breath…I just thought it was not recommended is all.” He felt like a complete idiot for mucking that up. Here was a mage who had been unfairly thrust into a role she clearly wasn’t ready for, and all he could think of was a contingency plan in case she became an abomination.

            And Hadiza sensed this.

            “Commander, if you’re worried about me succumbing to demons and blood magic, let me put your mind at ease.” The flame vanished, snuffed out without so much as a hint of smoke. She pointed to the mountains where the sky was torn asunder, a deadly green that was echoed in the mark on her left hand.

            “Your fears are pouring from the sky and raining down all over Thedas,” She said, “I’ve faced down all manner of demons since you all hauled me here to spearhead this campaign. Had I wanted anything but an end to this chaos, I simply had to stand there and wait to be taken.”

            Cullen felt like an even bigger fool. Had he really been such an ass?

            “My apologies, it’s just…with what I’ve seen I’m so used to mages giving into temptation…” He tried to form the words, to convey his thoughts, but as eloquent as he sounded in his head, it only came out as nonsense.

Hadiza placed her hands on her hips, proving him right.

            “I get it. There’s a lot of us out there that can’t say no. But there’s just as many Templars out there that can’t take ‘no’ for an answer either.” She said evenly. Cullen was startled at the way she had simply dropped the truth between them; it was there, now, and he couldn’t ignore it. He was well aware of the sins of Templars against mages. He’d heard the stories in Kirkwall, had seen the haunted looks on the mages’ faces in the aftermath, knowing no help was coming for them. He remembered walking the halls, and he remembered all too well how no mage would meet his gaze, and those who did seemed to summarily be in a hurry to get wherever they were going.

            He wondered, as he gazed into Hadiza’s proud and determined face, if she had suffered in her own Circle. Then he remembered that dark place in Ferelden, finding the broken and dismembered bodies of his comrades in the halls and corrupted abominations laughing as they stood amongst the horrific carnage.

            “I…” He began, looking away, “I should return to my duties. I am sorry to have wasted enough of your time.” Before Hadiza could respond he was walking away. She stared after him, wondering how she managed to lose control over her brain to mouth filter. The war room was going to be just a bit chillier in the future, she could tell.

 

 

            When Hadiza was finally cleared to travel once more, she could not wait. She immediately gathered Varric, Cassandra, and Blackwall for an expedition into the Fallow Mire. There was a group of Inquisition soldiers missing and the last thing Hadiza needed was the organization losing ground when they needed to be a force to be reckoned with. So they rode for the Fallow Mire, and almost as soon as they arrived Hadiza regretted it.

            “This is bullshit!” She hissed as her boot sank into a particularly soft patch of the bog. It was a bog, with shifty and unreliable ground and nothing but reeking standing water all over as far as the eye could see. Even the sky looked murky and Hadiza was pretty much done with the Mire before they’d even left the camp.

            Varric chuckled good-naturedly as Hadiza yanked her muddy boot from the muck with a grunt.

            “Wishing you’d pointed somewhere else on the map?” He asked. Hadiza sighed, picking a path gingerly through the bog as she followed the damp map Scout Harding had provided for her to the soldiers’ approximate location. Between them and this mark on the map were a seemingly endless array of the undead and a few demons and spirits besides.

            The demons didn’t come until they stumbled upon the veil fire beacons.

            “Oh good, more veil fire,” Hadiza said, “I should light this.”

            “You sure that’s a good idea?” Varric asked. “I mean last time you light a fire spiders came out of the ceiling.” He glanced around, wary. They’d managed not to disturb the water, a lesson they’d learned earlier is what drew the undead but that didn’t mean there wasn’t anything lurking waiting to kill them.

            “I’m going to light this.” Hadiza said glibly and proceeded to energize the torch sconce with sympathetic magic. Almost as soon as the veil fire flared to life there was a distinct and frighteningly close screech of a lesser nightmare demon.

            “Do I even need to fucking say it, Herald?” Varric sighed as he unhooked Bianca and Hadiza cast a shielding spell. Hadiza laughed, the focus of her staff glowing and crackling with lightning. If there was one thing she was in battle, it was confident, and even though she’d had a high dragon drag her something fierce, she hadn’t lost her confidence yet.

            The battle was harrowing, more so than any of their previous fights against demons, and it was only made so because of sheer numbers. They were nearly overwhelmed and Hadiza nearly exhausted her magic in several revival spells when her team was knocked out by one of the demons, quickly following up with chain lightning to paralyze and give them time to regroup. The strategy was usually Hadiza finding a distant spot from the fray and casting shielding and offensive spells to cover her warriors who lead the charge, taunting the enemies away with rude words and fierce cries, and Varric moving like a ghost amidst the din to pierce demon hides with arrows. Thus far, it was a pretty sound strategy, and Hadiza had not sustained any serious injuries since the Ferelden Frostback they’d brought down in the Hinterlands.

            Still, they’d gone through a few healing potions before clearing the beacon’s area.

            “Let’s not light any more of those if we can help it,” Blackwall said, shaking the blood from his eyes as he put his shield on his back and sheathed his sword. Hadiza was reading the inscription on the stone, sighing.

            “Seems we don’t have a choice. This shit is the only thing keeping the corpses from overrunning the Mire. There’s three more by this tablet’s reckoning, which means we need to conserve our healing potions and be on guard.” Hadiza took a torch and borrowed the preternatural flame to aid in their passage to the next beacon.

            It felt like days when they finally fought their way to the final beacon, lighting them all and ensuring a clear path from the camp all the way through. So long as the water was not disturbed, the way was clear.

            And Hadiza was tired.

            “Let’s look around,” Cassandra said, “I do believe we’re running low on healing potions and we have yet to come across the Avvar who hold our soldiers captive. There must be a supply cache in the area.” The others agreed and began their search, wary and careful. Hadiza found some old armor and made a note to have it sent back to Haven to craft something worthy out of it, but no healing potions.

            “Alright, we’ve got four left, but I’ve got a revival spell that never runs out of fuel unless I do. There’s gotta be a supply cache in the keep somewhere. All we have to do is clear the initial guard and search for it.” Hadiza shook up a vial of lyrium and downed it. She’d burn it out of her blood soon enough; she was already planning to light everyone on fire as soon as they went into the fight.

            “That’s a bit reckless,” Varric said in surprise, “Sure you don’t want to strip your armor off and bend over for them as well?”

            Hadiza fixed him with a brief glare.

            “No,” She said, “But we need to get this done. We’re too far from any camp to replenish and I’m asking you all to have faith in me…and my supply of lyrium potions. Blackwall, Cassandra, you know what to do when we’re in there. They attack, you mow them down…get them to crowd you without overwhelming you if you can. Varric, nail any stragglers to the ground near the fray.” She glanced ahead, the path before her wreathed in thick, sickly fog.

            “And you’ll be casting healing spells aplenty, I presume?” Blackwall asked. Hadiza chuckled darkly.

            “Once you’ve got them bunched together, try and get clear. I’m going to bring some fire. Afterward we can decide what the hell comes next if we’re still breathing.”

            Reckless.

            And, as they later found out, when Hadiza brought down a firestorm on the heads of the Avvar, brilliant. They’d barely cleared their own trap before Hadiza cast the spell, and for a moment everything was smoldering in preternatural flames, the screams of panic from their enemies piercing the muggy air. The stench of burning flesh filled the air briefly and then the bodies were ash. Cassandra froze for a moment, trying to suppress the memory of the Conclave.

            Hadiza sighed, leaning over to try and keep the world from spinning.

            “Shit…” She croaked, her mouth watering excessively as a precursor to—

            She vomited.

            “Andraste’s tits, Herald, you alright?” Blackwall asked, coming to steady her with a firm hand as Hadiza wiped her mouth. Hadiza nodded, but in truth even that served to revive her nausea.

            “You downed three lyrium potions for that fucking spell, Herald. Even for a mage that’s a bit excessive.” Varric observed. He did not have a tone of concern but like the rest of her companions, Hadiza was learning to read the uncharted text of the words they spoke. She gave him a trembling smile, detesting the aftertaste of sour bile in her mouth.

            “We would have been overrun had I not,” She breathed. “I don’t usually need to replenish my mana thusly…but that was a big spell. Okay…” She rubbed her temples. Blackwall handed her his waterskin.

            “Here,” He said gruffly, “You mages burn lyrium out of your system as you drink it so you get dehydrated. That’s where your headaches will come from.”

            Hadiza was gulping down the water gratefully and already the oncoming migraine ebbed as she replenished what she’d lost. Sighing, she handed the waterskin back to Blackwall, wiping her mouth with her sleeve.

            “Thank you,” She murmured, her voice less hoarse, “Let’s see if there’s anything of value and press on ahead.”


	4. Ready

            Hadiza got precious little time to herself in those early days at Haven. She had fallen into her role as a leader with as much careless grace as a one-legged druffalo, but scrambling to figure things out over the months had seen her coming into her own. She could comprehend the entire map of Thedas, now, without Leliana’s amused assistance, and as she learned more about her advisors, she felt she was better able to gauge their strengths and weaknesses and assign them missions accordingly. In the times between missions, she trained her magic, using her tiny room to strengthen and further hone her abilities. She acquired a new focus for her retractable staff, comprised of drakestone for dealing out more fire damage, and for a while she felt…optimistic. She felt as if they had a chance to win this insane war and close the breach.

            That was until she spoke to Iron Bull one evening. It wasn’t often Hadiza ventured out into the cold nights but she did so to clear her thoughts, letting the crisp air bite into her nose and fill her lungs. She felt cleaner after these evening walks, but rarely did she run into anyone but Leliana’s scouts on the path. This evening, it seemed Iron Bull also was taking in the mountain air; mainly, he stood on a small knoll taking in the swirling green vortex that was the breach in the distance.

            “You know, I’ve seen a lot of shit in my day, but none of it will ever top someone blowing the sky open.” Iron Bull said as she approached, coming to stand beside him. He glanced down at her, the moonlight limning him in silver, making the grotesque scars stand out in relief against his swarthy, grayish skin.

            “I can’t fuckin’ believe they thought you were behind that.” He chuckled. Hadiza shrugged, hugging her cloak tighter about herself as a breeze blew through, chilling her to the point where she began to shiver involuntarily.

            “If I were capable of something like that, I don’t think I would have stuck around to get captured.” She replied through chattering teeth. Bull crossed his arms, canting his head as he studied her.

            “No, you’re not that type of mage. Definitely an odd background you’ve got. When did you first learn to use a blade? I’m gonna hazard a guess and say about six or seven. You humans live such short lives, gotta start early.”

            Hadiza was about to reply when his words registered and she froze, startled. Bull laughed at her reaction.

            “I thought I explained this to you when we met, Boss. You’ve got calluses on your hands, but not the kind mages get from wielding a staff for many years.” He took one of her hands and Hadiza bit her lip watching as his index finger traced her palm.

            “See here,” He said, “This is from a sword hilt; leather wrapping. I’m guessing cross-hatch style for better grip. You weren’t a sword n’ shield type either.” He relinquished her hand and Hadiza hid it in her cloak, not wanting to answer.

            “Hey, you’ve got nothing to fear from me. I work for you, remember? It’s just interesting that your advisors believe you to be a soft Circle mage.” He didn’t ask her about her past, and Hadiza was relieved though she wagered if he’d wanted to know he’d likely get it out of her one way or another.

            “I… I trained with edged weapons, yes,” She said, surprised at her own voice and feeling foolish for answering a question so late, “My father thought it prudent.” Bull smiled at her, knew it for a lie, but said nothing, releasing her hand. Hadiza hastily put her hands in her cloak.

            “You’re new to command,” Bull stated and at Hadiza’s affronted expression he chuckled, “Don’t. Anyone could see that even without being trained as a spy. You got hustled into this role because you were unlucky enough to the sole survivor. Everyone around you has some experience with war, battle, espionage. But you? You’ve got the Circle and whatever training your father saw fit to give you before then.” Hadiza frowned. Her pride stung. She’d been feeling confident that she was doing her best to lead this ragged bunch of zealots and here some Qunari spy was daring to say she lacked the credentials for her role?

            “I never asked for this.” She said crossly and Bull smiled.

            “Who the hell ever does? But asking for it and taking it doesn’t change the fact that you lack experience. You’ve done alright thus far, holding them together, but that’s mostly due to their own superstition. What are you gonna do when that mask gets taken away?”

            Hadiza hesitated. She hadn’t thought of that. This entire organization was hanging on the hope that she was the Herald of Andraste, a rumor she had adamantly refused to bolster even if it did give the Inquisition the power it needed to operate. She knew it was a lie, but she could not remember the why of it. Everything before the explosion was so hazy or blank. She felt like she was reaching for something that should have been familiar but found it gone as if stolen or misplaced.

            “Stop overthinking,” Bull admonished, “You’ll drive yourself insane trying to loosen all the knots. But you should think about it. The Inquisition is formed, yeah, but it lacks proper leadership. It lacks an Inquisitor.” He turned to look at her, waiting for an answer.

            “Maybe I should do it, since nobody else seems to want the burden,” Hadiza said irritably, then looked down at her left hand. There was a snap, a hiss, and a crackle as the mark flared to life briefly. She looked up at Iron Bull who smiled knowingly.

            “Now you’re thinking like one under the Qun.”

 

 

           

            The Hinterlands were finally stabilized by the time Hadiza was ready to approach the mages with an alliance offer. It was still early winter, and the cold snap of the Frostbacks had not yet dug in, and Hadiza was leaning over the war table, observing the map of Ferelden with a critical eye. The advisors marked off what missions were completed, using the appropriate markers depending on who had overseen the assignment. Most of the map was littered with Josephine and Leliana’s markers, with Cullen’s spaced in very specific regions.

            “Do we really want to approach the mages for this?” Cullen asked, “They’re more vulnerable to corruption now more than ever. Templars are trained to fight and suppress this kind of magic. We can still go after them while there’s time.” Hadiza looked up. She stared at Cullen hard, her mouth set in a hard line. Leliana spoke up before something icy could leave Hadiza’s lips.

            “If we abandon the mages, we leave them at the mercy of a Tevinter magister who has made clear his intentions. I for one would rather not have a foreign enemy at our backs when we turn our attention to the Templars.” Hadiza’s face calmed somewhat, the hard set of her jaw relaxing as she stood up straight. Over the castle of Redcliffe was a green slip of flame indicating a rift. It was a small bit of enchantment that helped her keep track of the important assignments.

            “Is there no way to persuade both sides to join our cause?” Josephine asked, her voice gentle, and always it served to ease the tension in the war room as Hadiza glanced to the other marker on the map, always decorated with a wisp of green flame. Therinfall Redoubt was equidistant for their current location but to approach the Templars would leave the mages at the mercy of a magister. She could not approach both sides in the limited time she had. And neither side would listen if the message she bore came from anyone but her.

            Again, it had to be her.

            “No,” She said softly, running her thumb along the sleek line of her jaw, “No we cannot. They’ll not listen unless the message comes from me. I cannot be in two places at once else I’d have done that. We approach the mages. I can’t afford any Tevinter magisters being loose so close to our territory.”

            Cullen didn’t speak but his expression clearly said he was sorely disappointed in her decision. Still, he deferred to her, but not without giving her the full details.

            “Redcliffe Castle is one of the most defensible fortresses in Ferelden. It withstood an assault against the darkspawn during the Fifth Blight, and has withstood countless assaults since before that time. If Alexius is expecting you to walk into his trap then our men won’t be able to make it through the front gate before they’re cut down. We can’t risk losing our best chance at closing the Breach. I won’t allow it.”

            Hadiza would never say why but for some reason his last words stung. Is that all he saw in her? A tactical advantage against the enemy? She glanced around, studying their faces. Is that all any of them saw? Some unlucky mage who happened to have something to fight the unseen and unknown enemy that had inconvenienced them? She remembered Bull’s words, remembered that all of them saw in her a portent of hope and change...she was becoming a symbol.

            Symbols were not a good thing.

            “ _Look_.” She said firmly. “I am going to get these mages, and there’s got to be another way inside beside the blighted front gate. Leliana!” She registered the slight surprised in all but Leliana at her sudden tone. Leliana inclined her head.

            “There was a secret passage for the arl’s family. It has fallen into disuse but my agents can work around that.”

            “And how do you suppose to get all of them through without detection? The magister will be expecting us.” Cullen said. Hadiza knifed her hands through her hair.

            “Well, I could go through the front gate and meet him exactly as planned. He asked for me by name specifically, right?”

            “This is true,” Leliana said, “He regarded you with such high praise that we are absolutely certain he means to kill you.”

            “We can still go to the Templars if you’d rather not play the bait.” Cullen reasoned, his voice gentler this time. Hadiza thought she saw concern mingled with pity in his eyes but dismissed it. She stared at the map again.

            “It seems there’s no other way, Commander. I can’t risk leaving Redcliffe in the hands of a magister, even if the Templars agreed to help us.” She murmured, brushing her fingers over the region on the map. Cullen seemed ready to replay but the door burst open and in walked Dorian Pavus, whom Hadiza could not possibly forget. She’d only met him once and he was the reason she was so adamant about freeing the mages from Alexius’ thrall.

            “Luckily,” He said with a charming smile, “You’ll have help.”


	5. Herald

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hadiza seals the Breach.

" _My name is Hadiza Trevelyan, Firstborn of the House of Trevelyan; and I am **not** a mistake_."

 

            “I don’t ever want to go back in time again.” Hadiza said slowly as Alexius was hauled away by Inquisition soldiers. Grand Enchanter Fiona had all but kowtowed before her in gratitude, gathering her rebel mages and preparing them for the journey back to Haven. All seemed to be well in Redcliffe save for the issue of the missing Arl. Leliana had her scouts already on the case and Hadiza wanted to kiss the spymaster because she was tired of putting out fires all over Thedas only to have another spring up on the other end of the map.

            She was just tired.

            The journey home was relatively quiet and uneventful, and Hadiza was almost disappointed as they made their way up the winding mountain path to Haven’s small gate. The people with cheers and warmth welcomed her and for once, Hadiza did not mind the endless litany of “Your worship” and the like. She was home. Cullen and the other advisors waited for her as she dismounted, joining them at the Chantry’s entrance. She motioned them to join her inside, along with Dorian. She had much to brief them on and it would not wait, not after what she’d seen.

            The warmth that had welcomed her fled in the wake of the memory of a future she prayed never came to pass.

            In the war room, her advisors listened as she and Dorian told them what exactly happened in the future they’d glimpsed. While none flinched in the face of the horrors she described, she saw Cullen visibly pale as went into detail about how the Breach swallowed the sky, opening rifts any and everywhere around Thedas, demons running amuck and slaughtering everyone.

            And the Elder One. All she knew was that no matter whom she spoke to in that dark future, the Elder One was spoken about in tones of abject terror.

            “Who is this Elder One?” Cullen asked. Dorian met his eyes.

            “The one who cause all this, if I’m not mistaken. Even Alexius was fearful of him. But no more than that do we know. The Elder One opened the Breach and we must close it post-haste if we are to prevent what happened.”

            Hadiza nodded firmly in agreement. She glanced at Cullen, his gaze catching on hers. There, a question: _was I there? Did I survive at least?_ And her answer: _no_. Cullen looked away. It was not that he was afraid to die; it was the fact that he did not know how or when. Hadiza saw shadows in his eyes; his gaze focused on a distant place or time, but did not press for an answer.

            “So it is decided, then,” Cassandra said, “We gather the mages and prepare to assault the Breach.” Hadiza decided she liked Cassandra. Where as others were engrossed in the possibilities, she could always count on the Seeker to focus on reality, on what needed to be done _now_. Hadiza pinched the bridge of her nose. The Breach was waiting. But first, she needed to gather her courage, her strength, and make sure the mages were ready.

            “Alright,” She said finally, “We’ll reconvene in a few hours. I need time to prepare everyone. We’re not even sure what’s going to happen. I might not even be here when this is done.” She needed no instincts to feel the apprehension that suddenly made itself so palpable in the room. She glanced at all of them.

            “You’ve all been thinking it, I just wanted to let you know that I have as well. Alright. Dismissed…we’ve much to do.” They left, wordlessly, but the apprehension had not abated. Cullen lingered behind, but it was an awkward lingering, as if he were unsure of what to say. Hadiza rubbed her arm, the one that had broken beneath her when she was a girl…the night she’d been sent away to the Circle. Cullen rubbed the back of his neck.

            “Herald,” He began but faltered, “I know you said you’re unsure of what will happen when you close the Breach…it’s just…” Hadiza canted her head, her gaze questioning. Cullen swallowed, trying to find the words that seemed to dance just beyond his reach.

            “We can’t afford to lose our only chance of closing the Breach, you said,” Hadiza remarked, “If I die and the Breach is closed, then have I not served my purpose to the Inquisition? What further use would you have of me?” Cullen’s eyes went wide.

            “That’s not…! I did not mean…ah Maker’s breath why is it I can never talk to you without angering you?” His cheeks and nose were colored a very pleasing shade of red and Hadiza wanted to smile, trying in vain to hold onto her petty anger.

            “You should probably try thinking before you speak,” She said but her smile tempered her cruelty. Cullen let out a huff of laughter.

            “You’re probably right. I do apologize, my lady. It was not my intention to offend. You are not a tool to be used, nor a…a…”

            “…mere tactical advantage to be employed?” Hadiza offered. He blushed again and this time Hadiza’s anger melted away. There was something endearing about him being flustered and embarrassed.

            “Yes. While your mark allows us an advantage for damage control I should have considered how you might feel during all this. I pray you survive, Herald. We all do.” He turned to leave and Hadiza leaned against the war table, sighing. The first person she had to see was Grand Enchanter Fiona. The woman looked skittish and nervous, given the amount of rogue Templars they’d faced on the road, and the few Templars that had followed Commander Cullen to join the cause, but once she saw Hadiza she seemed to relax with relief.

            “Herald,” She greeted, “I cannot thank you enough for your hospitality. Truly.” Hadiza waved her hand dismissively. In truth her hospitality was not all that hospitable. She needed mages to close the Breach, but she could not believe what she had to go through to get them.

            “Next time you want to incite rebellion, do not ally yourselves with the ones whose people cracked the damned Golden City,” Hadiza said harshly, and instantly regretted it when she saw Fiona flinch, “I’m sorry. That was unworthy of me. I…I just cannot get the images of that future I glimpsed out of my mind. Red lyrium growing from the walls…from people. Nearly all of the people of Thedas overrun and destroyed by demons, and those who survive living in abject terror of this Elder One. Grand Enchanter are your people ready to prevent this from coming to pass?”

            The woman regarded Hadiza momentarily, then gave her a slow nod.

            “Good.” Hadiza said. “Check your lyrium stores, we’re assaulting the Breach tonight.”

 

 

 

            Magic was something Hadiza never thought about since she came into her mage abilities. It simply was a state of being, like breathing. While lyrium enhanced her abilities, burning brighter her pyro techniques, or strengthening her spiritual skills, when she had no lyrium she could still touch the threads of magic, like plucking strings on a lyre. She could feel the harmonizing energy that made magic what it was, drawing it from the Fade, syphoning it through the vessel of her body to make manifest the most fantastic things Thedas had ever seen. It was a consistent strive for balance and power, an unending chorus of harmony between the mage and the Fade.

            The Breach was a dissonant and discordant note in that chorus, screeching and jarring and so utterly _wrong_ , and as the magi marched upon the ruins of the Temple, she knew they all felt it. It was in the sickened faces of the mages as they saw the twisted and burned bodies of those who had been lost in the initial blast, some might have even been friends of those who now assembled.

            “You feel it too, then,” Solas said to Hadiza as the mages took up their places around the ruins. Wards had been erected and Templars who had joined the Inquisition stood at the ready to suppress any magic that got out of hand, though they too were unsure of what to make of the Breach above them. Hadiza swallowed.

            “It’s…it’s so wrong,” Hadiza said to him, “I know you and I spoke of what it would be like if we coexisted with the spirits of the Fade but this method…it’s not right. There’s something corrupted about it.” Solas inclined his head in agreement, but said nothing.

            “Set it aright, Herald,” He said softly, “As only you can.” And with that he went to join the other mages in the ritual. Cassandra never left her side and Hadiza found that oddly comforting.

            “Seeker,” She found herself saying before she could stop herself, “If anything happens to me…if I become…unstable…”

            “Don’t.” Cassandra said firmly. “You _can_ do this. I would rather not raise my sword against you this day, Herald.”

            Hadiza turned her face toward the hole in the sky, biting her lip. So it would be thus. She stood directly beneath the unknown, listening as Solas guided the mages in the single most ambitious outpouring of raw magic ever undertaken in ages.

            The magic burned the air around them, the scent of a thunderstorm, of flame, of winter, and _lyrium_ all converging on Hadiza who felt it surge in her so strongly she thought her body would turn to ash instantly. Instead she focused, raising her marked hand to the sky, redirecting the magic—which seemed endless—guiding it to the mark in her hand, which flared brightly, like a beacon. The Breach seemed sentient in that moment, as if the hole in the sky drew a breath and gasped, reaching out with unseen hands to touch the mark that controlled it. She could hear the strain in the mages as they burned through potion after potion and Hadiza thought her very blood would burn away in the pipes of her veins if she lost focus.

            The power reached a climax, exploding from her hand, beating back against the Breach’s stubbornness to close, sending a single, loud pulse up an unseen path directly into the Fade. The sky flashed with green lightning, spreading to all corners of Thedas and it seemed all at once the green glow that had bathed Hadiza was sucked back up into the sky, leaving only a scar of green in the clouds. Blackwall and Cassandra steadied her as she stumbled, her forehead glazed with sweat, her arm hanging limply at her side, her chest heaving.

            All eyes were on her as the assembled seemed to hold their breath. Solas glanced up, then to Hadiza, giving her a nod.

            “It is done.” He confirmed. Hadiza wanted to shriek, but found her throat raw, her voice barely a whisper…had she been screaming the entire time? It did not matter, the thunderous cheer that went up around her was enough to voice how she felt about the matter. With the aid of her companions, she made her way out of the ruins, the rest of the Inquisition trailing after her, back toward Haven.

            In a moment of seemingly unfathomable joy, Hadiza realized belatedly that she was _alive_.


	6. Corypheus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Exactly.

_Courage means being the only one who knows you're afraid._

 

There was dancing, drinking, song, and laughter. These were sounds as yet unheard since the Breach first split the sky, but here the people of Haven were to bear witness to yet another impossible thing. Hadiza watched from the raised hill upon which the Chantry stood, feeling at once drawn to the celebration and equal parts empty of purpose.

The Breach was closed; she could go home to Ostwick, now, right?

"You are the reason they can sing, you know," Cassandra said at her side and Hadiza glanced at her, noting the shadow that crossed the Seeker' s gaze. She looked as if she were remembering a painful memory. Not wanting to pry, Hadiza grinned.

"I wouldn't say that, Seeker. I' m not quite that talented."

Cassandra made a disgusted noise and Hadiza kept smiling. It was the same noise she made when Varric cracked a joke. That could only be a good thing.

“When this all started, I had not thought beyond this point. Now that it is accomplished, what will we do? The mages and Templars still terrorize Thedas with their war...& and the Chantry is still a mess of disorganization with no Divine to guide them. We have sealed the Breach but the Inquisition is still needed." Cassandra turned her dark and flinty gaze on Hadiza who blinked at her.

"We still don' t know who caused this, we cannot afford to rest easy until that part is known to us. Still, if the Inquisition is to continue..." Cassandra began, "...perhaps you shou—“ She had been about to say more but the alarm bells were ringing frantically, piercing the din of celebration and rousing everyone from the haze of joy that had settled over the village. Without thinking, Cassandra and Hadiza raced down the hill and steps toward the front gate. Cullen and Josephine awaited them both, along with two of Leliana' s scouts.

“Now what?" Hadiza demanded, perhaps too harshly. Cullen didn't seem to take it amiss and instead gave her the same story the scouts had told.

“There' s an army marching this way,” Cullen explained, “They'll be upon us within the hour. I've already got men manning the trebuchets but this is not a fortress. We can' t withstand the numbers bearing down on us.”

“Under what banner do they march?" Josephine asked, seemingly incredulous. She'd gone to great pains to ensure all the proper connections were made ere the Breach was closed, and she quickly ran down the list of names in her mind that would dare to march against the Inquisition, fledgling as it was. She had just gotten through most of the minor houses of Orlais when Cullen' s answer stunned her to stillness.

“None.” He said simply, as if he himself could not believe it either. Josephine glanced toward the gate.

"None?" She repeated, realizing this had just exceeded her talents as an ambassador. This fell directly into Cullen’s realm, and ultimately, Hadiza’s decision. Hadiza stared out into the distance, watching as pinpricks of torchlights dotted the mountainous slopes, encroaching upon Haven in a agonizing yet terrifying pace.

The gate suddenly shuddered against the force of a blow, wood groaning in protest. There were panicked sounds from the civilians and Cullen quickly ordered some of his men to escort all non-combatants into the Chantry. He then drew his sword.

“I can’t come in unless you open!” A young voice cried and Hadiza’s brow knit. That was not the voice of one attacking. Hesitating, she hazarded a slow nod toward Cullen. Signaling his men the bar on the gate was lifted and they pulled the heavy wooden doors aside. Hadiza swore when she saw the looming warrior standing before them, nearly half the gate’s height. She was about to cast a freezing spell when the warrior wavered…and then fell forward, clearly dead. Standing behind it was what could arguably call a pale shadow in comparison. Hadiza relaxed, silencing her spell. The boy was as pale as death, with hair the color of weak and watery sunlight, and eyes wide and almost perpetually panicked.

“I came to warn you…there’s people coming to hurt you. You…the Herald…” His eyes were too…unnatural. Hadiza felt like they were searching her for something, something she didn’t want to reveal. Shaking her head, she steeled her will.

“What is this? Who’s coming?” She remembered Cullen mentioning that the approaching army marched under no banner. Perhaps this scared slip of a boy could give them more insight. She glared toward the approaching army. She could only make out wavering torches; they were still far enough away that they were merely shapes in the shadows.

“Templars.” The boy responded and Hadiza felt like she’d been doused in ice water. It was Cullen’s growl of outrage and frustration that kept her from shouting how done she was and that the Elder One could have this blighted world because everything was tits-up anyway.

“Is this some sort of joke?” Cullen demanded. “We side with the mages and this is how they respond? Attacking blindly?” He let out a disgusted sound and Hadiza turned on her heel to assemble her team.

Hadiza briefed them on what they might be facing as they reemerged from the gate. The boy’s gaze darted nervously.

“He’s so loud…” He said, almost in anguish, “…he’s very angry that you took his mages.” He pointed to the farthest rise. Hadiza looked but saw nothing, she had a feeling of incredible dread that she already knew who moved beyond the darkness.

“The Elder One, I presume?” Vivienne asked, lifting her chin and somehow Hadiza could not fathom how the woman always managed to keep her composure even when the world was about to be set alight by an unspeakable evil. She was statuesque and stylish, attired in her battlemage armor, her staff angled in her hands in a relaxed grip.

The boy nodded.

“He’s _very_ angry that you took his mages.” He repeated to Hadiza, looking almost apologetic. Hadiza sighed.

“Great. Alright, Cullen, tell me you’ve got some kind of plan…anything. Give me anything.” She didn’t look at him but she could have sworn she heard him swallow, likely he was swallowing his own apprehension and terror.

“We can bury the bulk of the enemy beneath avalanches if the trebuchets are aimed precisely. More than that, my men can hold them off. We’re…Haven is not a fortress, Herald. If they’re allowed to breach us, we will be lost.” Hadiza waved her hand.

“Let’s get to it, then. We’ll defend the trebuchets and then we’ll turn anything else to ash while we can.” She didn’t want to look at Cullen for some reason, but she did, and his expression was hard, but his eyes were soft with worry. For a moment she was nearly compelled to reassure him that she would be fine—that she would always be fine—but in truth neither of them knew if that would be the case. Hadiza had become adept in skirmishes with demon waves from isolated Fade rifts. This was a full-scale assault, and she almost wished someone else bore the stupid brand on their hand.

Reluctantly, she turned away from the Commander to her squad and silently thanked the Maker for Blackwall and Cassandra’s experience. The first trebuchet was relatively easy to defend, and Hadiza felt her confidence grow with each Red Templar she put down, and somewhere, between fighting the Templars and running for her life to the last trebuchet, it dawned on her that she was killing _people_. They were warped by red lyrium, of course, but beneath the disfigurement were men and women who had once sworn to protect and serve underneath the banner of the Chantry. They had spouses, children, loved ones who would never know what happened to them. They died under her brutal and primal spells, and turned to ash. Their bodies would never be numbered among the dead.

Their families would never know what became of their loved ones.

As Hadiza worked tirelessly to turn the last trebuchet and bury the remainder of the army, she thought these things and felt the first waves of doubt lapping on the shores of her mind. When the behemoth Knight Commander lumbered into view, Hadiza felt sick.

She was responsible for this. She should have gone to the Templars, or tried to win over both sides, but there had not been time.

And now hundreds of innocent men and women who had been bound by their own faith now suffered as a result. Hadiza had no time to be beleaguered by her conscience, and focused on bringing down the Knight Commander. He summoned other Templars around his lumbering frame, bristling with spikes of red lyrium, with no discernible features beneath the corruption.

Thank the Maker for Vivienne, who was a far more seasoned spellcaster than Hadiza, so when Hadiza exhausted her mana, Vivienne picked up the slack…and somehow not a drop of blood fouled up the woman’s armor. Even her sweat seemed to enhance her beauty. Vivienne was the picture of a true battlemage in that moment, summoning spiritual weapons to engage her enemies in close-quarters, banishing them in a blink to cast another spell, only to summon them once more to finish off her foes.

Hadiza sagged against the turning wheel of the trebuchet when she heard the sound of it locking into place.

“I’ve got it!” She cried, her voice hoarse from panting as Blackwall and Cassandra fell back to defend both mages.

“Do fire that thing quickly, darling.” Vivienne said, her voice sounded mildly winded, “I highly doubt the enemy tires.” Hadiza nodded and prepared to finish the war.

That’s when the familiar shriek of a dragon pierced the night air. Hadiza looked up—they all did. The dragon was black as pitch, but it was…different… _wrong_.

“No…” She heard Cassandra whisper in disbelief.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me…” Blackwall murmured.

The dragon shrieked again, the ground rumbling a little from the impact, as its tattered wings took out one of the trebuchets before it flew over Haven. Hadiza was rooted to the spot for a moment, her mouth open as it became evident what had just happened.

“We have to get back to the gates…now!” Blackwall cried, shaking Hadiza out of her reverie. The four of them took off at a sprint back toward the gates. Cullen was there, ushering any and all of the soldiers and agents that had survived back toward the Chantry. As they skidded to a halt and the gates shut and barred behind them, Hadiza found the words.

“What the _fuck_?!” She cried. For once, no one seemed off-put by her expletive; doubtless they were thinking the same thing. Cullen looked tired, the shadows around his eyes deeper than usual, sweat shining on his brow.

“Herald, we cannot…we lack whatever is needed to contend with that…that _beast_ ,” He sounded like he wanted to swear up a fury, but he maintained his composure, “Our position is indefensible, and it will only be a matter of time before they fall upon us.”

“Commander, get the people to safety,” Hadiza said, trying to keep the disbelief out of her voice, “And…” Cullen’s brows furrowed and his golden eyes glittered with a ferocity she’d never seen before, likely because she’d never seen him in the midst of a battle.

“At this point we just make them **work** for it.” He growled. Hadiza and her team glanced at one another a moment, the sound of screaming and hysteria all around them. Haven was on fire and their only choice now was to bring as many of their enemies into the flames with them as possible. There were shouts just to the right, and Hadiza spotted Templars climbing the walls, with two Inquisition soldiers struggling to contend with them.

“Come on!” She cried, finding her heart once more. She could not fight that…that blighted dragon, but she could contend with Templars.

She could always contend with Templars.

 

 

 

Chancellor Roderick was going to die.

After assuring that everyone they could save, was saved, Hadiza and her team had joined the rest of the people in the Chantry, which was the only building that had not suffered any damage in the attack. In the warm glow of torchlight, Chancellor Roderick leaned against a stanchion, his blood wet and sticky between his fingers from a wound he’d sustained against a Templar. Hadiza watched him just as he watched her, and the two came to a brief understanding. When she’d first been brought here, Chancellor Roderick had been her biggest detractor, going so far as to ensure the Mothers in Val Royeaux were already supplanted with doubt, labeling the Inquisition a band of heretics and rebels.

Now, having seen the alleged Herald of Andraste work to seal the Breach and defy all that was corrupt as it bore down upon them, he knew. Had he not been so closed in his faith, mayhap this could have been avoided. The Maker did not give them such foresight, and he felt ashamed—almost embittered—at the fact that he had not put his faith in the Maker to see the world set aright.

“If we want this to end, we need to bury Haven.” Cullen said and Hadiza’s eyes cut to him, a silver lance as she frowned.

“No.” She said firmly. “If we die here we give this…this Elder One exactly what he wants. I’m not going to sacrifice everyone just to give one last defiant shout into the darkness, Commander. I…I can’t do that.” Cullen understood her apprehension but he also understood warfare in a way she did not. He’d seen the results of his inaction back in Kirkwall and even as far back as Kinloch Hold. He’d not stand aside and allow the enemy to claim more lives without putting up a fight.

Never again.

“We’re dying, but we can decide how.” Cullen told her, his expression gentle, a rare picture of compassion, “Many don’t get that choice.” Hadiza saw it again, the shadow that passed through his eyes like a leviathan beneath still waters and she saw a remembered pain in his gaze, a determination to never allow whatever had caused it to resurface. Hadiza nodded.

“Then we have no choice…” She murmured, her gaze turning to Chancellor Roderick, soft and sad. Would he have survived had he decided to back the Inquisition? She could not be certain—would never be certain.

“Yes…” Cole was whispering as he knelt beside the Chancellor, who was moving his lips but only tiny gurgles and rasps emitted, “…that could work.”

Hadiza blinked, feeling a flicker of hope stir in her. She’d take anything at this point; anything but the horrible task of burying herself, this village, and everyone beneath a mountain. Cole stood, meeting Hadiza’s eyes but he never really quite looked at her. She felt as if he were seeing something beyond their purview, his gaze unfocused and wide.

“There is…” Chancellor Roderick began painfully, “…there is a pathway. But if you have not made the pilgrimage you would not know it.” Hadiza felt the flicker of hope become a steady pulse in her belly.

“Go on…” She urged, not wanting to rush him but at the same time needing him to get it out so she could form a contingency plan that did not involve mass suicide.

“At the back of the Chantry there is a door that leads down to a pathway through the mountains…” Roderick continued. “…I can…I can show you the way.”

Hadiza wanted to let out a whoop of joy, and the plan came to her unbidden.

“Cullen,” She said, “Can you lead the people out? I can…I can distract the dragon—it’s me the Elder One wants anyway—but I need you to get everyone out of here.” Cullen hesitated.

“You mean to…?” He prompted. Hadiza nodded.

“I’m going to bury that thing and everyone that came with it…but you’re going to save our people, Commander.” Cole and Dorian were already helping the Chancellor to his feet. Cullen was torn. He motioned to a group of soldiers who responded with alacrity.

“You four will escort the Herald to the last working trebuchet. Any orders she gives are as good as my own. We’ll signal you all by fire arrow when we’ve completely evacuated.”

“Yes, ser!” They responded in unison. Hadiza was already turning to go when Cullen gently took her by the elbow. She turned, too quickly, and wound up standing too close. She saw his cheeks flush briefly before she stepped back to a respectable distance.

“What of your escape?” He asked her. The one question Hadiza could not answer was that one, because she had not planned to survive this last, desperate attempt to win a war. Instead, she simply let her gaze linger in his own. Cullen shied away from the realization that this may very well have been the last time he would ever see her. Instead, he steeled his resolve, jaw setting.

“Perhaps you’ll…perhaps you’ll surprise it. If there’s any hope to be had, just let that thing hear you.”

And with that, Hadiza, her squad, and her escort of soldiers left the Chantry, emerging into the burning night for what was likely the last time.

 

 

 

Two of the four soldiers that had escorted her were dead within the first five minutes of battle, and the other two were laden with wards cast by Hadiza and Vivienne as they worked to load the trebuchet. It was already aimed at the mountain face that towered above Haven, but now there was the business of fighting Templars.

“Ready to fire on your signal, Herald!” Hadiza was watching the horizon for a single dot of flame against the night sky. Still no sign. She prayed that the Maker kept them safe.

“Alright,” Hadiza said, “make sure this thing is aimed properly, we’ve only got one chance to get this right. I don’t wan—“ The screech of a dragon interrupted her, and it was close.

It was bearing down on them. Hadiza shouted out orders for everyone—including her squad—to clear the area…to run back to the Chantry. They scattered, Hadiza sprinting as the dragon landed, heavy and ominous, breathing corrupting fire and sending boulders and pieces of the hillside scattering and knocking Hadiza into an awkward roll. The dragon moved, serpentine and swift, coming behind her, cutting her off from her squad and thus…any hope of rescue.

There was a wall of fire in front of her, a dragon at her back, and all she had was herself. The dragon’s breath was hot and putrid, smelling of decay as it breathed and growled behind her, keeping guard.

In that moment, Hadiza knew that it had all been a set-up.

There was a figure beyond the fire, an impossibly tall humanoid shape coming toward her. There was a head, shoulders as broad as she’d ever seen, and arms as long as she was tall. It passed through the fire and came into full view. Hadiza felt as if a cold hand was clutching her heart, and her stomach dropped in terror.

The Elder One stood before her, and he looked _angry_.

The dragon roared toward the sky, preparing to devour her, and Hadiza felt her terror build.

“Enough!” The Elder One shouted and the ground shook from the force of his _will_ alone. Hadiza stumbled but did not fall, and she tried to steel her will, tried to imagine she was braver than she was. She imagined Cassandra, snarling into the darkness, challenging all evil.

She tried her best to call up a similar shield of bravado.

“ _Pretender_ ,” The Elder One spat the word like it was offal in his mouth, “you toy with forces beyond your ken _no more_.”

Hadiza felt it…the voice…crawling against her skin like too many claws, and then turning uncomfortable as it needled beneath, trying to bind her spirit. She fought it only by way of terror and resolve commingling to make her reckless.

“Whatever you are,” Hadiza shouted at the creature, “I am not afraid!”

It was a _lie_ …and the Elder One did not hesitate to tell her so.

“Words mortals _often_ hurl at the darkness,” It was as if he were in her mind, peering into her thoughts as if her mind were an open tome, “once they were mine. They are always _lies_.”

Hadiza swallowed but did not back down.

“Know me,” He continued, and Hadiza saw his mouth twist into a grotesque smile, amused, as if he were speaking to a child, “know what you have _pretended to be_.” His head lowered, his smile vanishing into a snarl.

“Exalt the Elder One; the will that is Corypheus. You _will_ kneel.” He pointed to her with one long clawed finger. Hadiza wanted to laugh but instead she used that hysteria to fuel her bravery. She lifted her chin in defiance, fixing Corypheus with her best gimlet stare.

“I’ll do no such thing! You’ll get nothing out of me!” She shouted. Corypheus looked almost pleased with her defiance, and he seemed to shrug his shoulders, lifting his other hand. Within it was an orb, glowing the same sickly green as the mark on her hand…and then turning red. Hadiza felt the mark respond almost instantly… _painfully_.

“You will resist,” Corypheus was saying, but it didn’t seem he was speaking of only her, “you will always resist. It matters not.” Hadiza felt something change in him, as if he was considering something to himself, but then he held out his other hand and by force of will her left hand—the _marked_ hand—lifted in response, answering whatever call Corypheus was sending out. She could feel the force in her body, as if he were skinning her alive.

“I am here for the anchor.” Corypheus said with such finality that Hadiza was almost compelled to surrender.

“The process of removing it begins **now**.”

            And then Hadiza began to scream. The pain was beyond that which Hadiza knew a mortal body could endure. It was as if her very soul were passing through her left hand. She could feel the crushing might of Corypheus’ will on her psyche, compelling her to surrender, yet taking some small measure of pleasure in her suffering as he tried to remove the mark from her hand.

            “This is your fault, _Herald_ ,” Corypheus was saying, his voice somehow pitched above her shrieks of pain without raising his own voice, “you interrupted a ritual years in the planning and instead of dying you stole its purpose.”

            Hadiza felt herself fall to one knee, her pride battered to a pulp as she did so. She held her left hand, trying to close it into a fist, but the force was too much.

            “I do not know how you survived,” Corypheus continued, sounding mildly impressed, “but what marks you as touched, what you _flail_ at Rifts…I crafted to _assault the very heavens_.”

            Hadiza felt overwhelmed with that revelation. How could one…one person have such power? Corypheus’ will became stronger, flaring with his outrage.

            “And you used the Anchor to undo my work,” Corypheus sneered down at her, the power surging as Hadiza felt the wind rush out of her, her vision spinning briefly, “the **_gall_**.”

            Hadiza tried to speak, tried to get information, tried to garner some hope that she would survive this as she had survived all else before this, but the pain was only surging within her in one long continuous wave of anguish.

            “What…what is this thing meant to do?” She screamed out, her voice reedy and scratched. Corypheus cared nothing for her agony, watching only for the mark’s removal.

            “It is meant to bring certainty to a world where there is none.” He said as if she should already know, and he said it with such certainty as if his plan was foolproof, as if her efforts had been merely a mild inconvenience. Hadiza felt her pride ground to bits, felt the hopelessness of defeat and despair.

            “For you, it brought the certainty that I would always come for it.” He closed the distance between them in four strides, and Hadiza felt his long, ugly claws clamp around her arm, lifting her from the ground to ring her eye level with him. Corypheus wanted to look upon the face of the one who _dared_ defy him. He wanted to watch her die as soon as he had the mark in his possession once more. Hadiza met his gaze. There were echoes of what was once a man in his corrupted face, but his eyes were…his eyes were dead. Ancient. Those eyes had been old when the Trevelyan line was still a fledgling thing, and they held nothing but a disdain for _life_ within them. Hadiza felt small and insignificant in his presence, and yet…

            “I once breached the Fade in the name of another, to serve the Old Gods of the Empire in person,” Corypheus explained to her, “instead I found only chaos and corruption; dead whispers. For a thousand years I was _confused_. No more.” Hadiza heard a pain there that was new…raw…a wound as yet unhealed.

            “I have gathered the **will** to return under no name but my own; to champion withered Tevinter and correct this _blighted_ world.” He brought her close and Hadiza felt a tremor of abject horror run through her at his next words.

            “ _Beg_ that I succeed, for I have seen the throne of the gods…and it was _empty_.”

            With a sound of disgust he tossed her aside. Hadiza watched as the distance between them grew, and was suddenly jarred with a cry as her back impacted the trebuchet. She fell on her side, grateful for what was a minor discomfort compared to Corypheus’ removal of her mark. She caught a glimpse of her hand, shocked that the mark was still there, and quickly looked up, wondering if the creature was aware.

            He was.

            “The Anchor is permanent,” He said, sounding mildly disappointed, “you have spoilt it with your stumbling.” Hadiza spotted a sword next to her, and quickly snatched it up. After so many years it felt good to grip a hilt once more. Still, she knew this would be her last stand.

            “So be it.” Corypheus said as Hadiza was shaken from her internal resolve. He had voiced her thoughts but not for the same reason. She gripped the sword in a two-handed grip, her wrists straining from the weight. She’d trained with edged weapons, she told Bull, but never a two-handed great sword. She would not be able to swing it without hurting herself.

            “I will begin again,” Corypheus was approaching her, making ready to end her life, “find another way to give this world the nation and _god_ it requires.”

            Hadiza understood, then, what Corypheus had intended to do. She understood, as he loomed over her, exactly who and what he was. It should not have been possible. She had grown up hearing the stories, much like anyone in Thedas had; she had read about the folly of the Tevinter Magisters in tomes in the Circle’s library. The story had been condensed, and the context was lost, but all it had amounted to was the hubris of mages, and why they were kept in rigid check till this day.

            Corypheus had to be stopped.

            Hadiza took a deep, shaking breath and stared him down. He was one of them—one of _the_ magisters—the one who cracked what was now the Black City.

            And rising over his shoulder, like a shooting star in the night, was a single arrow of fire. Hadiza felt hope surge in her, making her sick with nervousness and adrenaline. She felt herself smiling, felt the hysteria rising in her as Corypheus spoke.

            “I cannot suffer even an unknowing rival. You _must_ die.” He said, and Hadiza laughed at him, high and wild and giddy with the relief of someone whom had nothing left to lose. It gave Corypheus a brief pause, his hand lifted to strike her existence from the face of Thedas, and Hadiza spat at him, a snarl on her mouth and recklessness emblazoned in her bright eyes.

            “You’re arrogant!” She shouted at him. “And that’s good!” Without giving him a chance to process her renewed vigor, Hadiza struck the chain that held the trebuchet fast, the sound of it rapidly unwinding and creaking a hymn to her ears as the impossibly large bolder launched into the air, a last-ditch attempt to foil this menace; a menace the likes of which had not plagued Thedas for a thousand years and more.

            “Enjoy your victory, you son of a bitch!” She shouted as the bolder crashed into the mountain, the earth rumbling as Corypheus turned to look. A wall of ice and stone rushed toward them, and with a snarl Corypheus turned toward her, enraged. Hadiza bolted, staggering and stumbling, running on her toes and tumbling down the hill to outpace the certain death that was going to bury her too deep to be excavated without aid. As she rolled into the broken scaffolding, she heard the screech of the dragon overhead, watched as it tore off into the night sky, doubtless taking its master with it. In that moment she cursed as something sharp and splintery tore at her ribs as she fell into the excavated hole, wondering with a bitter and hysterical irony how it would look if she had died trying to bury Corypheus yet he survived. In those final moments, she laughed harder than she ever had in life. Andraste preserve her, what a joke she was.

            And then her back struck ice and stone, and the darkness swallowed her.


	7. Cold Comfort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hadiza embarks on the search to find the Inquisition after narrowly surviving getting her ass beat by Corypheus.

_Courage, sacrifice, determination, commitment, toughness, heart, talent, guts._

_That's what little girls are made of._

\--Bethany Hamilton

 

            It was the dripping that woke her.

            Hadiza’s eyes roved beneath her closed lids and finally, as if by some great effort as evidenced by her pained groan, she opened them. Her sight was limited and she immediately reached for her magic in defense, casting a simple spell to suspend an orb of light above her. The light illuminated the water-carved cavern around her that had obviously been an old mining shaft. Hadiza sat up, only to be forced back down as a wave of pain took her. Her back was battered, doubtless bruised from the numerous falls and tumbles she’d taken, and her ribs ached. Gingerly, she touched the torn coat directly over them; her hand came away covered in a light sheen of blood, sticky and rapidly drying. She breathed deep, wincing, but there was no gurgle or struggle…whatever had struck her had pierced nothing vital, but had done enough damage to slow her.

            She lay there for a time, collecting her wits as the mage-light floated around the cavern. She remembered the battle, the terror, and now she was exhausted.

            _I could die here._ She thought to herself with aching despair, _I could die here and no one would assume anything. They would assume it was what was meant to happen. All I need to do is sleep…_

As she shut her eyes she saw Cullen’s face swimming in the darkness. She imagined what he’d say if he bore witness to her, now.

            “Herald,” He was saying, and his voice was like soft, warm water over the senses, “Herald…you must press on.”

            Hadiza smiled. She’d always liked Cullen, despite him managing to give her pause. He wasn’t fond of mages, she gathered, but between that and his being charmingly befuddled when she spoke to him, Hadiza knew he was a good man. If anyone could hold the Inquisition together it would be him or Cassandra.

            Cassandra; the beautiful warrior who inspired her to be braver than she ever could be on her own.

            “Get. Up.” She heard her own voice say. “Get _up_ , Hadiza.”

            Hadiza grunted, trying not to wail as she sat up slowly, then climbed to her feet. Ahead of her was a pathway, carved by miners long-gone, and she sighed in relief. It had to lead outside or deeper into the mountains, and since the way at her back was blocked, she could only go forward, so she went.

 

 

 

            They made camp between two nameless peaks in the Frostbacks, with the mages casting shields against the rising gale. The march out of Haven had been nothing short of furtive and stressful, but the advisors and the Inquisition’s inner circle had managed to keep everyone organized and together. The wounded were packed on litters and pulled by horses.

            The dead, they had to leave behind.

            Here and there Cullen passed a family, either bereft or relieved to have made it out together, and he felt the sting of their defeat all over again. These people had opened their gates to the Inquisition and what had it cost them? Their entire livelihood, it seemed. Cullen wondered if his excitement about the Inquisition making a difference had been premature.

            Now they had an archdemon to contend with, and only one Grey Warden in their midst.

            Every so often he glanced back to the darkness beyond the ring of light cast by their torches and cook fires, and at Leliana’s behest they kept the fires small on the off chance that they were followed. Her scouts had circled around to flank them, ensuring that their trail was properly covered, but Cullen had countered, asking her to leave small signs for Hadiza, in case she survived. Leliana’s expression was somewhat sad, though it barely showed behind the unreadable mask of stoicism she wore, but she had obliged him. They held their place between the peaks, and Cullen took up an unintended watch at the outskirts of their camp, further up the snow-buried pass. He was freezing, but he held his resolve. He had taken vows in a cold and barren Chantry in Ferelden, sitting on his knees for hours, reciting the Chant of Light as he maintained his vigil despite the cold and the press of bare stone around him, with a single candle in the darkness.

            He vowed to himself that he would be the candle, and that Hadiza had survived her confrontation with the Elder One and the dragon. She had to have survived. She had walked out of the Fade, had battled countless demons, maleficarum, apostates, Templars…she had fought the whole damn world there was no way she would be killed by a blighted dragon.

            Unconsciously he realized his hand was gripping the hilt of his sword tightly.

            “Commander?” One of the scouts emerged from the darkness to his side, bearing a mug of what looked to be hot tea.

            “Mother Gisele sent this, said you would have need of it.” The scout hesitated when Cullen took the mug, and then added, “She’s alive, I’m sure of it, ser. I saw how she stared down that dragon. No way she’d let it take her out so early in the game.”

            Cullen smiled, and the smell of elfroot was masked with honey as he brought the tincture to his lips and drank. Instantly, his body was flooded with warmth.

            “I know. And I intend to be here when she returns to us.” He murmured, keeping his eyes on the darkness beyond.

 

 

           

            The passageway was long, pressing in on all sides, making Hadiza feel somewhat cramped as she made her way forward. It was hard, but at least the chill kept the searing pain in her ribs at bay. The dripping of melting ice did not escape her, but as she rounded the next bend she was surprised to find it opening into a sort of atrium. Her marked hand flared up angrily and she let out a grunt, flexing and straightening her fingers. Usually a flair up meant a Rift was nearby but this was a different feeling. She could feel the presence of the Fade nearby, but not the telltale _feeling_ of it seeping into the world. No, this was different, it had to be just demons, although she could not imagine how or why demons were faffing about in an underground cavern. The mark did not pulse and flare as it did when a rift was nearby. Instead, it shone like a beacon, maintaining a steady and unwavering glow.

            “That’s new…” She whispered to herself, as if she could string her voice on a leash. There was fear in her that if the demons outnumbered her then all of this would have been for naught.

            She learned in the next instant that they were not just ordinary demons. They hovered, hag-looking creatures—three of them!—covered in a frosty mist. She stood still, just outside of their notice, looking down at her glowing hand. It was not pulsing, and she felt something new in her blood, like an overdose of lyrium. It was as if the Fade itself was swimming in the pipes of her veins, only allowed to break into the world through her hand. She flexed her fingers, her breathing slowed, and she waited, seeking out the tendrils of wild and unchecked power that the Anchor emanated. Slowly, she gathered them, holding onto them like the errant strings of wayward balloons, and then she stepped forward.

            The reaction of the Despair demons was almost instantaneous for as soon as Hadiza stepped into the atrium cavern one let out a piercing shriek of alarm and the others turned, echoing the shriek with shrill sounds of their own.

            “This is such bullshit.” Hadiza muttered feeling the tendrils of power respond strongly. She held out her hand, intending to open a rift to send the three demons back into the Fade. What happened next shocked her—and the demons, it seemed. The Fade’s raw power gathered above their heads in a violent crescendo of snapping and crackling and a ring of green appeared around the three demons. When the power reached a pique, there was the telltale sound of a rift bursting, only this time it was sucking in the demons. Hadiza could feel their life depleting, and their shrieks of outrage became shrieks of terror as they dissolved, one by one, into the concentration of Fade magic above.

            Then they were gone, and so was the glow in her hand and from the power she’d unleashed. Hadiza leaned over and vomited. It had taken a lot of focus on her part to keep the power surge from snapping back at her and sucking her into the Fade as well, but there she was, alone and demon-free.

            “Andraste be praised…” She breathed, wiping her mouth, “…now to get out of this blighted cavern.”

           

 

            The night was late, but few slept in the camp, save for those who did not wear the Inquisition’s uniform. The children slept, the wounded slept, but the companions of the Herald were awake. Cassandra was fretful but did not let it show, and instead channeled it into something she could control: whetting her blade. The sound of steel against the fine whetstone Blackwall had given her was soothing, and served to distract her from the very real possibility that Lady Trevelyan would not return to them.

            Cullen sat across from her, staring pensively at the fire, and the light caught his eyes in such a way that for once the shadows that were there were not as plain to see. Leliana had not been seen for the bulk of the evening; no doubt conferring with her scouts to keep a lookout for the Herald in case the trail they left was covered by the new blanket of snow, and Josephine was huddled under heavy furs, attending to the very unpleasant business of tallying the nobles and allies lost during the sacking of Haven. They had managed to lose very few civilians, but Cullen’s report tallied the loss of soldiers extremely high. It was likely why Leliana was avoiding the camp, focusing her energy on keeping a lookout for the Herald. No one would voice it, but had Leliana not coddled her men and pulled them back, they might have had fair warning that an invasion was eminent. Instead, the pale ghost of a boy—Cole he called himself—had been their only warning as to who their enemy was.

            Templars.

            None wanted to believe it, but it was true. The Templars had abandoned the Chantry long before the Breach, most rebelling and hunting mages down to kill them, but when they’d sent the Herald as a delegation to Val Royeaux, that was when the Templars truly withdrew from the Chantry. It was at once brave and stupid, as the Templars could not possibly survive long without the Chantry’s supply of lyrium…and likely what drove them to ally themselves with such evil.

            It was all speculation, but the advisors had pieced together their speculations and that had been the most plausible one. Cassandra had been there when the dragon attacked, and had seen Hadiza face it down before being forced to flee at the woman’s behest. It had stung her pride and her sense of honor to abandon an ally in the field, but she understood Hadiza’s intent: she’d lose no more lives to reckless acts of bravado…only her own.

 

 

Hadiza learned that talking to herself was a waste of precious heat and energy while trekking through the extreme temperatures of the mountains. Instead, her thoughts had been stripped of context and ere reduced only to the sound of her chattering teeth and the sensation of her shivering body. The only good to come of it was that the cold numbed her to the pain of her injuries, though not the discomfort of moving stiffly through the snowdrifts. The cavern had emptied out into the side of the mountain and she turned northwest, only because all the other directions led to a swift and deadly drop down the face of the mountains.

She licked her lips and kept them sucked into her mouth to keep the piercing gale from freezing them all over again, but it did little for her chattering teeth. When she found the trees and the snowdrifts were not hip-deep, she snorted with relief, because sighing was too slow and it was too cold to be slow. She thought of conjuring flames and remembered that her body was shivering too much for her to focus…and that the enemy might have sent agents to assure she was dead. For all she knew, a pair of Templars could be shivering and chattering not too far behind her.

The thought of that possibility was chilling enough on its own without much need of the frigid wind that blew through her. Hadiza continued on, her mage-light flickering ahead of her as she struggled to maintain focus but all she could think of was how blighted cold it was and how she’d give anything for a dragon breathing flames at her right now…

            The stars wheeled overhead but Hadiza was no less certain where she was or where she was headed than she had been hours— _had it been hours_?—before. Instead she paused to lean against a swaying pine that blocked some of the howling wind and it was a small but blessed relief. She was able to breathe a little easier, a little deeper, and though the cold stung her nose and made it run, she was able to focus. It was in that moment her mage-light revealed the length of black yarn fluttering in the breeze, caught in the rough bark of the tree. There was a tinkling sound from something tied to the end of it, like a tiny bell as it struck the wood. Hadiza braved the cold by removing one of her hands from beneath her tightly squeezed arms to snatch the charm on the yarn. The mage-light illuminated the piece clearly and Hadiza wanted to laugh and when she saw what she held in her hand, she _did_ laugh. Freezing her ass off in the snow of the Frostbacks, Hadiza clutched the raven charm to her chest like a talisman.

            “Andraste bless you, woman!” Hadiza whispered, the wind snatching her benediction and carrying it into the night. She took the charm and pushed on ahead with renewed vigor. Leliana had hoped, and in her hoping had left clues for her to follow. She—unlike a lot of people—had not underestimated Hadiza intelligence, and mayhap she knew more of Hadiza’s prior training than she let on, but in this instance, that fount of unknown knowledge had been a miracle. As she pressed on, she found that the cold did not bite as hard, nor the wind howl as loud. There was more strength in the way she shielded herself and pushed onward, stopping to search for further clues. All in all she found eight raven charms before she came upon the deserted campsite.

            Hadiza knelt, holding her hand over the ashes. They were cold, of course, but it was sign enough. Hanging from the pot-stand was another raven charm. Leliana had been thorough. This campsite could have belonged to anyone after all, but Leliana had assured Hadiza knew.

            “Praise the Maker…” Hadiza whispered, wanting to weep for joy.

 

 

 

            Cullen returned to his post by the mouth of the pass, because unlike the others, he had learned how to avoid sleep. He closed his eyes for a brief power nap, no more than thirty minutes at a time, and that was all the rest he required to keep going. Leliana seemed to materialize beside him, her expression hidden by the shadow of her hood.

            “Any sign?” Cullen asked, trying to keep the anxiety from his voice. Leliana was silent for a moment; her eyes were trained on the darkness as if only she could see what lay beyond. After a time, she shook her head.

            “None.” She said flatly. “I am sure she has found my marks already, Commander. We have agreed not to continue moving until first light. There is time yet.” Cullen crossed his arms, not looking at her.

            “Yes well be sure to keep your agents scouting for danger…and for signs of her. They are at no great risk that you need pull them back in haste.” The words were barbed, and both knew it. Leliana did not flinch or wince but there was a palpable wilt to her dark presence. Beneath her hooded robes, her throat worked. She had been a player of the Grand Game of Orlais, she could handle this!

            But the Game had no accounting for blood-guilt.

            “I know.” Was all she could say. Both advisors were silent, but the silence was not companionable, and only the distant wind howling between the peaks broke it. It was so loud that they almost missed the shadowy figure stumbling through the snow ahead of them. Cullen’s hand went to his sword instinctively and Leliana reached for her quiver to draw an arrow.

            “Get Cassandra.” Cullen ordered one of the soldiers who responded with alacrity, albeit moving with stiff limbs having stood too long at his post in such foul cold.

            Cullen was still angry about the loss at Haven, angry that they had lost the Herald, that their enemy had outmatched them with a blighted _archdemon_ , and that all their effort had been for naught. The Inquisition was scattered, forced to flee like refugees into the mountains. If the enemy sent agents, then so be it, he would unleash this checked fury upon them. Make them hurt even if it were as petty as throwing pebbles at a mountain.

            Someone would pay for this.

 

 

 

            Hadiza could scarce believe her eyes when the uphill slope became a downhill slope and she stumbled toward the faint, flickering glow of what was unmistakably firelight. She made out the familiar figures of her advisors and opened her mouth to call out to them, but the wind snatched away the croak that emanated from her throat and she worked feebly to wet her throat.

            “Cullen…!” She called, but the wind took that away too. It was as if the very forces of nature sought to keep her from her forces, but Cullen was advancing toward her, hand on his sword hilt, with Leliana and Cassandra in tow.

            “Cullen…!” She said again, louder, forcing it so that her ribs, still injured but frozen from the pain, cracked in the strain as she struggled for breath, the exhaustion overtaking her in a sudden on-rush of fatigue.

            “It’s her!” She heard him say and fell to her knees in gratitude.

            “Thank the Maker!” Cassandra’s lilting accent was a blessing and Hadiza brought her trembling hands to her mouth to cover the sob that threatened to spill out. Standing over her were her advisors and Andraste be praised she wanted to collapse and hug them all. The cold mattered even less in the presence of allies.

            “I’ve got you.” Cullen’s voice was warmth, pure warmth, and Hadiza relaxed as he removed his cloak, throwing it over her slight shoulders. It was warm from his body heat, warmer than anything she’d ever felt, and then she was being lifted in a pair of strong arms.

            “I’ve got you.” He said again, quieter this time as Hadiza rested her head on his armored chest. She was relieved; relieved to be alive, relieved that they’d all made it out safely, and relieved that Cullen was the one who found her. She let herself weep, only a little, and if Cullen felt her body trembling from the silent sobs that wracked her, he said nothing, but his arms did tighten their secure hold on her body. Hadiza buried her face in the soft fur of the cloak, breathing in the musky scent of armor polish and _him_. The trip to camp was all too short, however, and he brought her to the makeshift infirmary where Mother Gisele took over, easing her out of the cloak and setting to work tending to her injuries.

            “Drink this.” She remembered the woman saying and was given a bitter-tasting tincture that made her limbs feel loose and her head foggy.

            Hadiza watched Cullen with heavy-lidded eyes who lingered, but the darkness was already around the edges of her vision as she struggled to stay away..

            “Will she be alright?” Cullen asked, but his voice sounded muffled. Hadiza didn’t catch the rest, slipping into the blissful, dreamless, and exhausted sleep.


	8. Inquisitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hadiza leads the Inquisition to Skyhold, and from thence, learns to embrace her destiny and her duty.

“ _Keep your fears to yourself, but share your courage with others_.”   
―Robert Louis Stevenson

 

            They’d been at each other’s throats for hours, frustrated and road-weary from the lack of options. Hadiza lay on her cot, listening to them argue over what the next move would be. She thought of the looks on their faces when an archdemon had come to join the invasion of Haven, inducing overkill on the people, a show of the enemy’s might. She thought of Corypheus, who did not even perceive her as a large threat so much as a minor annoyance. Even her taking a crucial part of his long-winded spell had seemed a minor setback. Without thinking, Hadiza stare at her marked hand and sighed. Over the course of her recovery that first night, she’d told them the details of what happened, and she’d noted Dorian’s surprise…and a vague expression of dread on Varric’s face. They had hammered her with questions to be sure she was speaking truly, and each time she grew more agitated, ensuring them that while Corypheus had been manhandling her person he was monologuing about who and what he was.

            “We’re nothing but gnats to him.” Hadiza whispered to herself. Mother Gisele stirred next to her, having been watching the exchange with a quiet gravity.

            “They’ve been at it for hours. I should be there planning the next move.” Hadiza continued, arguing with herself more than anything. The Chantry mother gave her a gentle smile.

            “And what good would that do, Herald?” She asked in her lilting Orlesian accent. “One more loud voice would only worsen things…and I think yours is the last one that needs to be heard.” Hadiza frowned.

            “Why? I’m supposed to be…I’m supposed to be _leading_ them. I can’t lead laying about like an invalid. I don’t…” She watched as Cullen demanded who put Cassandra in charge, “…I don’t even know what I’m doing half the time.” Her voice dropped to a small, defeated murmur. Mother Gisele’s expression never changed and Hadiza saw no judgment there, and yet she felt judged, as if her competence as a leader had been weighed and measured and found wanting.

            It would not be the first time her ability to exist was questioned, but this somehow stung worse because she had never even wanted this.

            She should not have been here in the first place. She should have been dead with the rest of her cousins and uncles she’d been sent to aid and assist on behalf of the one Circle that remained loyal to the Chantry.

            She felt her throat close up around a lump and turned away from her bickering advisors. For some reason she was thinking of Chancellor Roderick. For some reason his death had struck her. He’d been the one who first told her she was a mistake. Then Magister Alexius, then Corypheus himself.

            Her entire life for the last several months had been naught but pure happenstance. Corypheus was right: she was stumbling and flailing, grasping at anything that might aid in solving a problem too large for her mind to encompass.

            She had failed the people who had put their blind, zealot-like faith in her and the portent she heralded. She had heralded nothing.

            She was _nothing_ without the Anchor; just another powerful mage, trying to survive.

            Hadiza climbed shakily to her feet and left the awning where she’d been resting, and came to join her advisors. They sat in silence, sullen and stone-faced, refusing to meet one another’s eyes. Hadiza likened them to chastised children, yet no one had chastised them. They’d just had their asses kicked by an ancient darkspawn magister.

            And now they were unsure what to do. They’d originally started out wanting to close the Breach and bring an end to the mage-Templar war raging all over Thedas. But with what they knew now, none were prepared to face down one of _the_ magisters of Tevinter and a gods-bedamned archdemon alongside one another.

            Especially with the Grey Wardens vanishing with no trace as to where they’d gone.

            Hadiza glanced between them all; unsure of what to say, because anything she said wouldn’t help. She had no answers, only her own fear.

            And that’s when Mother Gisele began to sing.

            Low and slow, a hymn known by all the faithful of Andraste. Hadiza knew it well, for her mother and father often sang it when the storms were bad and they were but children. Her sister had been terribly afraid of thunder claps and the song always put her right to sleep.

            Soon, the light and silvery thread of Leliana’s voice wove into the hymn, beautiful and crisp, and then Cullen, who shut his eyes but not before Hadiza saw the shadows chased away in them. For a moment there was a brightness in the camp as the faithful sang, a magic that was not of the Fade, and Hadiza felt her heart grow light briefly as she dared to _believe_. With tempers soothed and hearts at rest, Mother Gisele placed a gentle hand on Hadiza’s arm.

            “There is always hope, Herald. So long as you draw breath to give voice to it, there will always be hope.” Hadiza smiled at her. It sounded like something her mother might have said long ago, but before she could respond she looked up. Solas was standing farther off, seemingly on the outskirts of the camp. Hadiza never truly noticed before but Solas was a singularly solitary elf, yet the only time she ever saw him come to life was when he spoke of the Fade and the spirits he encountered within.

            “Herald,” His voice was calm, yet there was an edge to it she’d never heard before, “a moment, if you please.” Hadiza had no time to protest or decline for Solas was already striding away. She followed, leaving her advisors to regain their composure and regroup.

            Out of earshot, Solas lit the veilfire torch at the edge of the cliff, providing a spiritual ward against the weakness in the Veil. He did not look at Hadiza, but instead out at the darkness of the endless spine of mountains ahead.

            “That artifact you mentioned Corypheus using. The orb he used to try and remove the Anchor; ‘tis not any corrupted magic.” Solas seemed to hesitate as he debated continuing, finally deigning to look at Hadiza whose expression was open and expectant.

            “It is elvhen.” He said simply. He let the implications of those words sink in, noting when they did that Hadiza’s eyes widened.

            “It is an ancient artifact of my people,” Solas continued, “I only tell you this because you will understand how this might negatively impact them if this is brought to light.” Hadiza bit her lip, glancing at the flickering and eerily silent flame of veilfire before them.

            “Yes,” She murmured, “I can see why the elves would come under further scrutiny and abuse if it is framed as it being their fault for this…fiasco.” She cracked her knuckles. Solas inclined his head.

            “So what do you want me to do? If you know anything that may aid us in stopping Corypheus, you have to let us know. Although, I’m not really sure where in the Void we’re going to go to get anything done. We can’t stay hidden here forever.”

            Solas gave her a wry smile.

            “You are right, of course,” He acceded, “and I know now where we must go.”

 

 

 

            There was a place, Solas had explained, that was hidden deep within the mountains. It was an old place, with a history long forgotten to even those who dared to catalogue it. It was a place of power to all who dwelled there, and it now stood empty, as obdurate as the mountains that secured its position, awaiting a force to come and fill its ancient halls once more. Hadiza led the Inquisition out of the mountains into the open air, and with renewed vigor she scouted to the north, sometimes far enough ahead that even Leliana’s scouts could not keep up. They followed her, because she was still their beacon of hope, even after they’d seen her fall.

            _But_ , Hadiza thought firmly, _I got back up_.

            It was nearing the end of their third week of traveling when she came upon it. She had kept Solas by her side, conferring with him for directions, asking him for advice about the Fade, attempting to pick his brain to learn magics not previously tapped in the Circle. He was stoutly taciturn about certain subjects, but approved of her eagerness to learn in others.

            So it was on one such day that Hadiza saw the end of their journey. It was there, as Solas had informed her it would be, a mighty hallmark of stone and history, and Hadiza felt for the first time since the sky was torn open that something was finally going right.

            “Skyhold.” Solas informed her, seeing her expression of wonder. Hadiza mouthed the word to herself as a wind whipped up from the south, tousling her long black hair about her face. Filled with the possibilities Skyhold could bring she let out a shout of pure joy, pointed her unmarked hand to the sky and shot off a single arcane bolt. It arced into the sky, a purple beacon of pure magic and exploded in a shower of light above her. Solas said nothing, but his smile was a little more pronounced, almost the smile of an old parent indulging a child. Hadiza whirled on her toes and sprinted back toward the others.

            “Herald!” Cassandra cried in surprise. “We saw the light but we weren’t sure…are you alright?” Hadiza skidded to a halt before them.

            “Oh, _oh_ I am better than alright, Seeker.” Hadiza said. The advisors exchanged puzzled looks.

            “Perhaps Corypheus struck her a bit too hard in the head,” Dorian drawled, “I do believe she is convinced traipsing through the mountains in mid-winter somehow constitutes ‘better than alright’.”

            Hadiza let out a laugh.

            “Come, then, Dorian, and behold the Inquisition’s new home.”

            And when she led them over the rise, one by one the light passed to their faces, a shared sense of awe at the sheer providence of coming upon a place. Hadiza shared a glance with Solas, who merely inclined his head. He’d done his part in aiding her, now it was up to her to lead the Inquisition forward.

 

 

 

            Skyhold, as it turned out, was in a state of disrepair. For that, nothing much could be done save for everyone assisting in tidying up what they could. It was enough that they had a place to safely settle in without worry of being attacked. The first night in Skyhold was cold, dusty, and drafty, but there was a certain ease that had settled over the Inquisition as everyone realized that this was their final stop.

            Hadiza took an opportunity to explore the keep when she could, and the first things they set up were the war room and the advisors’ offices. Then they set up her quarters, which were…lavish, even for her. Josephine had insisted on this course of action however and Hadiza could not gainsay it. So she sat on her great Orlesian bed, sinking into the downy mattress with a sigh. She felt guilty for indulging in such decadence when her people were freezing in other parts of the keep, but as she lay back, staring at the high ceiling, she realized that she had earned this. After facing down an archdemon, she deserved a little peace and comfort. Shutting her eyes, she sought the solace of restful sleep.

            She dreamed for the first time in what seemed like forever, but found herself immediately thrust into the Fade.

            “This is such bullshit.” Hadiza muttered, inspecting herself to make sure her projection was indeed accurate, as she had been taught to do. The Fade itself was quiet, as if sound were not as welcome. While there seemed to be water everywhere, she heard no sounds; no splashes, no drippings, nothing. And any sound uttered from herself did not make it far from her face. It was such an odd plane of existence.

            She remembered Corypheus, and shuddered.

            “You are the one they speak of.” A sultry voice said and Hadiza cringed. The last thing she wanted to face was a Desire demon. It materialized, all lavender skin and eldritch allure, smiling at her indulgently, inviting her. Hadiza had seen what their kind was capable of. She’d seen men ensnared in the easy promise of endless bliss and drained to a husk, their bottomless well of _want_ tapped to feed the demon’s appetite.

            “They talk about me in the Fade?” Hadiza wondered aloud, and the demon’s bare feet touched the ground, standing still taller than her. It approached her slowly, hips moving in a rocking motion that reminded Hadiza of the rise and fall of waves on the Storm Coast. Everything about this breed of demon was designed to evoke lust, longing, and a fathomless want. She felt the tendrils of its power brush the shield around her mind, probing and prodding gingerly for a weakness to exploit.

            “Oh yes…” The demon breathed and the word ‘yes’ sounded like a _sin_ , “…the Elder One mentioned you fouling up his plans. He is so very certain you perished.” It was close now, standing before Hadiza, lovely, shapely breasts up-thrust, leaving nothing to the imagination but a wonder at what color its nipples were. Wildly, Hadiza wondered where she could get such a scandalous piece of body jewelry.

            “You want to touch me, don’t you?” It asked her and Hadiza felt sick; not because it was right…but because it said more about her than it did about the demon.

            “I’ve always been curious.” She admitted and the demon smiled. “Do your victims ever want _you_ or…or do you wear the face of who they want more?”

            That, Hadiza noticed, gave the demon pause. She wagered that no one had ever thought to ask a demon about its modus operandi before, let alone how it felt. They simply were—they simply existed and their existence was used as tinder to the fire of fear in the Chantry’s two-fold control of Templars and mages. No one ever sought to ask the demons _why_ or _how_.

            “It is rare,” The demon said slowly, as if ashamed almost, “the few that desire me in my true shape are generally depraved for your kind.” It canted its head, curious. Then, much to Hadiza’s horror it changed its shape and there was Cullen, staring at her with those golden-brown eyes, that crooked smile marred only by the scar that split his lip.

            “Does this please you?” The demon asked in Cullen’s warm and gentle voice. Hadiza backed away.

            “Stop that!” She snapped, letting out a blast of her own power to disrupt the magic. The desire demon stumbled, shapeshifting back to itself. It was too late, however, as it had the ammunition it needed.

            “Would it not be easier to surrender?” It asked her soothingly. “I could fulfill the desires he could not. Or would you rather…?” It ran one delicate hand along the curve of one heavy breast, the delicate golden chains dangling from its nipples tinkling prettily. Hadiza realized now the nature of her damned dream. She needed to wake up.

            _Now_.

            She sat up, clutching the silk duvet of her bed in a white-knuckled grip. She was sweating, short of breath, panting heavily.

            And she ached. Maker’s breath did she _ache_. The throbbing between her thighs was inexplicably hardwired to the pulsing in her breasts, which felt heavier and fuller than before. The slightest movement told her she was not going anywhere anytime soon. Gingerly, she unbuttoned her top, then got out of her clothes entirely, letting the cool air soothe her fevered skin. She crawled under the duvet and lay there in nothing but her undergarments, discarding her breast band as well and freeing her breasts with a gratified sigh and groan. She remembered the dream vividly, and the desire demon’s lurid and deeply tempting offer. She wondered, briefly, what it would be like to surrender.

            She wondered what it would be like if the hands that touched her were callused and rough and not her own.

            Or worse…if those hands were stained lavender, ending in black claws.

            Her blood was running hot in her veins at the thought and she felt sick for wanting, sick for letting the demon trick her into opening up. She had tried to reverse the spell, tried to get the demon talking but instead it had worked its own counter magic.

            And now she’d have _that_ waiting for her in the Fade next time she was there. Fantastic. Thinking of the desire demon gave her pause; however, thinking of her Commander did not.

            She wasn’t sure why that thrilled her.

 

 

 

 

            It was late the next morning when Hadiza was roused from bed. She washed, dressed, feeling replete and well-rested, and bounded down the steps to the main hall where breakfast was being served. Caring little for too much food, Hadiza only had a bite of the flaky Orlesian crème pastries and a cup of cool apple cider to wash it down. She was about to get up to leave, and then reconsidered, snatching two more pastries before heading to the war room. Somehow, her advisors had already beaten her there. Then she remembered the sun was already climbing toward the high-point.

            “Before you all chastise me, I had a rough night in the Fade so I slept in.” Hadiza explained. Leliana’s eyelids flickered and Josephine drew back, visibly nonplussed. Cullen sputtered.

            “Are you…alright?” He ventured. Hadiza rolled her shoulders and decided to scarf down a pastry.

            “Fine. Just had a bit of a scuffle with a desire demon is all.” There was a sudden feeling of the room being emptied of warmth and tension being left in its place. Cullen’s face went ashen beneath his barely-kept composure. Leliana hesitated, her gaze shifting between Cullen and Hadiza. Josephine’s gaze dropped to her writing board. The silence stretched on for a span that Hadiza deigned truly uncomfortable and then she turned her attention to the map.

            “Reports?” She began with a long sigh.

            “Actually, Herald, there is a matter we must address before we begin the day’s work.” Josephine’s voice was saccharine enough to bait Hadiza’s curiosity and she looked up.

            “Yes?” She prompted. Leliana and Josephine exchanged glances.

            “Come with us, Herald. There is something you must see…and do, before we are to truly begin.”

 

 

 

            When Hadiza emerged into Skyhold’s upper courtyard, she wasn’t expecting an audience. When the deafening cheers arose at her arrival, she wanted to run back inside. Nothing she’d done had prepared her for such a reception. She blinked in the glittering morning sunlight, her gaze sun-dazzled as she made out familiar faces. All of these men, women, and children had come with her from Haven. She was their hope, now, and they looked to her. Shielding her eyes, she watched as Cassandra approached bearing what was the most ornate longsword Hadiza had ever seen. Its blade was silverite—it had to be—and the hilting was stylized as two entwined dragons. It was a fearsome looking weapon and it looked like a hassle to carry around.

            “We have come far since the Breach, Herald.” Cassandra said, “And though I declared the Inquisition reborn as per the Divine’s directive, we have operated thus far without a true leader—with an Inquisitor.” The words hung in the morning air and it seemed all of the keep was holding a collective breath, waiting on Hadiza.

            It dawned on her what was happening just then.

            “Oh. Oh! You mean…me?” She laughed. “Are you certain? Trusting a mage with such a position of influence and power?” Cassandra did not smile; Hadiza found that frustrating. Sometimes Cassandra found her amusing enough to twitch the corner of her mouth briefly, but for the most part she was a singularly serious and focused woman.

            “Why not? You have been leading us thus far. And it is you who holds the power to undo Corypheus’ work and unite Thedas. No other can claim such abilities. Without you, Herald, there would be no Inquisition. How will you lead?” Cassandra presented the sword to her, proffering it like a sacred item and Hadiza took it, holding it in a steady and assured grip. It felt right, the sword, the weight of it easy in her hand, the blade showing a glimpse of her reflection, and the hilt seemed to mold to her grasp like an old lover. She weighed her answers carefully. She could seek to lead the Inquisition to amass her own power, or she could do it for wealth, or she could unite Thedas.

            And she could stop Corypheus.

            Her brows knit on that last thought, and her expression became harsh and determined as she strung together her response. It came out hard and assured, the mark of a leader who intended victory.

            “What happened at Haven must **not** be allowed to happen anywhere else. If I am to lead this Inquisition, it will be to ensure that anything and anyone that threatens Thedas will be stopped. _Corypheus_ ,” She said his name harshly, unafraid and filled with righteous fury, “will be stopped.”

            Cassandra did smile then, but it was a smile of grim satisfaction. With a solemnity befitting the ceremony, she turned to the people, and to Cullen.

            “Commander, will the people follow?”

            The deafening roar that followed was answer enough. Hadiza looked out over the heads of those who served the Inquisition and smiled.

            _Her_ Inquisition.


	9. Strategem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cullen and Hadiza play a game, and Iron Bull plays another.

"Thou art to me, a delicious torment."   
\--Ralph Waldo Emerson

 

            Relentless.

            That’s the only word Hadiza could dredge out of the mire of her brain when she finally escaped her dreams come dawn. After taking on the mantle of Inquisitor, Hadiza’s work load had increased, but her position afforded her more privacy than ever.

            It would be that privacy that could damn her or relieve her, and Hadiza relished and thrilled in it. The desire demon had not attacked her the second, third, or even fourth time around when she’d crossed paths with it in the Fade. Instead, it kept making the same offer, only it did so in more subtle ways.

            It tried wearing Cullen’s face, and Hadiza learned to discern the lie for what it was. Then it offered _itself_ to her and Hadiza had felt her mouth go dry with desire beating fervently in her blood. The demon had taken it in, inhaling deep, nostrils flaring, black eyes filling with lavender light as it drank and drained Hadiza’s unchecked lust down like a heady draught. Then, it had the audacity to lick its lips at her.

            “You’ll succumb soon enough, little mage.” The demon promised. “I have lived a long, long time. Waiting is not new to me.”

            And then Hadiza would come out of the Fade, back to the realm of wakefulness, sweating, panting, unrested. She was unsure how long it had gone on…days? Weeks?

            It did not matter, as Hadiza flung herself into her missions.

            The one bright spot during this time was Cullen. Not even just Cullen, but mostly what he inadvertently did.

            She’d been busy in Skyhold’s garden earlier, and had been using some new Creation magic Solas had been teaching her to coax some of their rarer herbs and plants to grow. She had been so entrenched in this endeavor that she hadn’t noticed Dorian and Cullen setting up the chessboard, seating themselves in the pavilion. They were speaking with Dorian regaling Cullen with some of the finer books he’d read that Skyhold could use in their library. In the meantime, Hadiza was wiping her hands on her breeches, something Vivienne would have scolded her for had she seen.

            She came upon them just in time to hear the tail-end of the match. Hadiza watched as Cullen—in a rare state of smugness—leaned forward, smirking. She couldn’t help but notice his mouth. She had seen it enough in her dreams.

            “Don’t take this loss too badly, Commander, I know how you must feel.” Dorian said. Cullen chuckled.

            “Oh really? Because I just won and I feel fine.” He leaned backward and Hadiza was put into mind of a lounging feline. Well, she could see why they’d liken him to a lion. Dorian smiled good-naturedly, his gaze sliding to Hadiza as he stood.

            “Don’t gloat, Commander,” He said easily, “there’ll be no living with you.” He took his leave then, sharing a smile with Hadiza briefly.

            “Will you be joining me in the library later? The order of the Arcanium Enchanta came in early this morning. I thought you may be interested.” Hadiza shook her head.

            “Perhaps later, Dorian.” He followed her gaze, saw the Commander and smiled. He knew interest when he saw it, at least. Giving Hadiza a knowing smirk he took his leave.

            “I should probably get back to work as well,” Cullen was saying, but then indicated the board, “unless you would care for a game?” Hadiza knew this was an opportunity if nothing else. Her cheeks warmed but then cooled a she stepped forward.

            “Prepare the board, Commander.”

            When people told stories of her in the future, it would likely be argued that those words were where their relationship began. Hadiza herself could not be certain, but she knew something began long before she spoke those words.

            The game was simple enough, and Cullen was enviably good at it. She could see why the men loved him so; he had a sharp mind for strategy, be it at the war table or here playing a mere game. He was patient, knew how to bide his time, knew how to lure her into unsuspecting traps, galvanizing Hadiza into considering her moves with great care. He had a knack for weighing all options at once with a startling speed and clarity, while Hadiza had to take her time to consider all possible contingencies before she settled on a piece.

            He beat her quickly the first two games, but the third game she put up a stubborn fight, losing many pieces to him but still managing to maneuver her remaining army around the board.

            While they played, they talked.

            He told her of how he used to play this game religiously against his older sister, who was arguably better at it than he, and never hesitated to tell him so whenever she won. He described how he and his brother practiced everyday in preparation for his comeuppance, and Hadiza smiled when Cullen got lost in the memory, a satisfied smile coming over his face as he described his victory to her.

            “And so now you are the smug one, beating the helpless Inquisitor at this game.” She teased. Cullen laughed, shrugging helplessly. Hadiza felt her mouth go dry as a dream bubbled to the surface of her mind, momentarily interrupting the present as she imagined the corded muscle and sinew beneath, rolling under pale, scarred skin. She wanted to press a kiss to the curve of his shoulder, wanted to breathe in that remembered scent of armor polish, leather, and him.

            “It is why I’m the Commander of your armies, Inquisitor.” He was saying and Hadiza blinked away the haze that had come over her. Was Desire’s influence that strong?

            “This is the longest we’ve gone without speaking of the Inquisition or any of its trappings. It’s…quite nice.” He murmured.

            “Yes,” She breathed, “I suppose it is. We should spend more time together.” She made a move. Cullen’s brows rose in clear surprise, as if he wasn’t sure he’d heard her right. Hadiza was staring intently at the board but he was staring at her.

            “You…you said that.” He agreed. “I’d like that very much.” He countered, suddenly enjoying the silence that followed as he considered everything and nothing all in the same scintillating turn. Hadiza made another move, looking somewhat relieved and satisfied.

            “I believe this game is yours, Inquisitor.” Cullen had never been more content to lose as he leaned back, watching her. Hadiza grinned, letting out what amounted to a girlish giggle of self-congratulatory pride.

            “I feel as if I should have some sort of reward for it. Inquisitor beats Commander at strategy-driven board game. Something shorter. We’ll work on the title…” She tapped her lips with her index finger. Cullen chuckled.

            “And you say I’m smug. There will be no living with you at this rate, Inquisitor.” Hadiza pressed her index finger to her lips, and slowly, oh so slowly, a smug and wicked smirk tugged the corners of her sensuous mouth upward, her eyes crinkling at the corner, silverite and mischievous.

            It was Cullen’s turn to feel his mouth go dry. He averted his gaze, hiding a smile but not the blush that rouged his cheeks.

            “I’m sure you can manage, Commander.” Hadiza replied softly. Cullen nodded.

            “It will be hard, but I shall learn to endure.”

 

 

 

            “You know, just once I would love a rift that just spit out nugs.” Hadiza said after a Fade rift shattered, and the pain in her left arm from draining it subsided. Varric laughed.

            “Yeah, and just once I’d like to go into a cave that didn’t have fucking giant spiders crawling all over it.” He settled Bianca back on her harness, wiping the demon blood from his face. The Emerald Graves were beautiful, of that there was no doubt, but Hadiza was inherently tired of tripping over Red Templars every few leagues, or running headlong into a Fade rift that shit powerful demons on her at every opportunity.

            “Bull, did you clean your weapon after our last fight?” Vivienne asked wryly. Bull went into an excited explanation as to why and how he needed the blood on his weapon to intimidate enemies and Vivienne’s expression did not change, save for the slight, bemused raise of her well-kept brows.

            “Yes, ma’am.” Bull conceded and only then did Vivienne smile at him.

            “Thank you, darling.” She said in a saccharine voice. Bull muttered something about her sucking the fun out of everything but nonetheless sat down as they struck camp to begin the long process of cleaning off his broad battle-axe. Hadiza sat down with a groan of relief stripping off her vambraces to scratch at the itchy flesh beneath, clammy from sweat. It was so impossibly green everywhere that Hadiza actually had to find something else to look at. With the perimeter secure, and scouts posted to ensure a proper watch rotation, Hadiza was content to sit by the fire and rub oil into the thick belt she had taken off, removing the small pouches and her miniature spell book in order to work at the leather. Everyone else, save Bull, had gone to sleep for the night, until his or her watch was up.

            “You gonna tell me what’s going on, Boss?” He asked her and Hadiza blinked, looking up sharply. She knew Bull was reading her; she’d asked him about the Ben-Hasserath, and then she’d consulted Dorian who told her just how good their spies were. None suspected a race like the Qunari would turn out spies that would give Orlesian bards like Leliana a run for their money. In a single moment he had assessed, analyzed, and processed her expression and drawn the most logical conclusion. Standing, he motioned for her to follow him. Without thinking, she obliged him, following him out of earshot of the tents and the circle of the fire.

            “So what’s eating you, Boss?” He asked her. Hadiza tried to dissemble.

            “Nothing.” She said quickly—too quickly. She wasn’t exactly a great liar, least of all in the presence of someone who knew the art of dissembling like a milk-tongue.

            “You could have told me that earlier, but you instead you look like someone had just found your diary and was reading all the embarrassing parts. That’s how I knew I was right.”

            Hadiza’s head spun. He’d been baiting her? Seeing her confusion, Bull laughed.

            “Look, Boss. You hired me on as a forward bodyguard and a double agent. You’re the Inquisitor, now. There’s no question who’s leading us anymore. That means, there’s no room for careless mistakes. If something is eating at you, you need to kill it so you can focus.” Hadiza bit her lip, gaze sliding away. It wasn’t guilt but shame that burned her face. Bull seemed to understand that.

            “It’s just something I’m dealing with, Bull. There’s a demon in the Fade that seems hellbent on getting at me. It’s singularly determined to…” She began to pace, distracting herself from the shame. She had passed her Harrowing! She had resisted Pride, Rage, and Desire before. But this was different. This was a relentless torment that sometimes wore Cullen’s face.

            “So what? You’ve slain countless demons before. What makes this one so different?” Bull asked. Hadiza whirled on him.

            “This isn’t some mindless Terror jumping out of the ground to knock us down. It’s a…” She didn’t want to say it too loudly, so her voice dropped to a shamed whisper, “… _Desire_ demon.”

            Andraste bless him, but Bull laughed. Everyone knew when a Desire demon tormented a mage it was usually because of something in them that they’d put a lid on.

            “So what? You’re a little wound up, Boss. Need someone to unwind you so it’ll go away?”

            Hadiza was flustered, sputtering.

            “What?!” She demanded. Bull laughed again, but there was no cruelty in it, only amusement.

            “Look, Boss. Everyone knows when a Desire demon comes courting a mage, there’s mostly just sexual frustration backing up the pipes. You probably haven’t had your torch lit for a while, by my guess. And someone’s caught your eye that’s got you wanting it lit badly.”

            Hadiza wrung her hands nervously.

            “I…” Bull held up his hand.

            “You don’t have to tell me who it is. That’s not the important part. But you need that taken care of. You Andrastians like to go around pretending everything’s a sin, including your own nature. It’s sad, really. But part of nature is sex. And sometimes sex can be a great way to release tension. And you being a mage, you and your lot have to keep a check on your emotions. You start letting that demon come around, it’ll get to you eventually. They always do.”

            Hadiza stared at the ground, feeling helpless.

            “What do I do? I can’t kill it while it has…while it has the power that it does.” Bull’s fingers tipped her chin up so that she had to look him in the face.

            “You take its power away. It’s tormenting you with what you want. So you take what you want and give it no power to wield over your head.”

            That was new. Hadiza felt spiraling warmth in her belly at the octave to which Bull’s voice dropped, barely a rumble above a whisper, but it thrilled her from the roots of her hair to the tips of her toes. She knew exactly what he was telling her to do.

            “Bull, are you implying that I should…he’d never…it would be…” The words kept crowding on her tongue, dissolving in the air, and Bull placed one callused finger on her mouth to silence her.

            “It doesn’t have to be him. Not yet. But you need to tear those knots in your soul out before you can do anything. If it’s who I think it is, going to him as you are now will only end badly for both of you.”

            It dawned on Hadiza what Bull was offering. Seeing her realization, he smiled.

            “When you’re ready, I’ll chase the shadows away, and then you can go into the Fade and kick that demon’s ass properly.” No more than that, and he left her to contemplate what he’d just offered her. Hadiza swallowed hard, placing her hand on her chest, trying to steady her racing heart.

            The offer was sound, and she tried to think of all the ways it could go wrong. What if Cullen found out and never looked at her again? No. No Bull was Ben-Hasserath; discretion was something he was good at. He’d never let her secrets see the light of day without her consent. What he was offering was a safe way to draw out the power the demon was feeding off of, to diffuse it so that the demon was weak enough for her to vanquish. What he was offering was something her mind shied from admitting. All at once the desire rose up in her blood, making her hot, drying out her mouth, and that damnable _ache_ returned. How long would it take before the desire drained from her? She imagined with Bull he could wring her dry of all her forbidden fantasies until the demon sucked on nothing but air. She imagined with is blade-ready hands and rough voice that he could slake her until no demons came calling.

            The thought made the heat in her belly a conflagration of flames, and the ache nearly drove her to her knees. She went to her tent, stripping down just enough to be comfortable on her bedroll, and laying awake. If she said yes, she’d be trusting Bull not to tell anyone how close she was to being possessed. If she said no, she would have to find another way to fight the demon while burying her desires deeper and deeper until she could no longer find them.

            Cullen’s laugh rang in her head, easy and good-natured. Maker he had no idea how he tormented her every night. He had no idea demon wore his face, tempting her with the fantasy of being able to touch and kiss him without fear of disgrace or shame from anyone. He had no idea how close she was to taking the fantasy and avoiding the reality.

            If he knew he would never look at her, he would be disgusted. He hated the temptation that mages faced everyday, and mayhap his fears were not unfounded. Look at her, hands deep in her breeches, fingers working and cramping as she stroked herself to a shuddering, eerily quiet climax, thinking of herself caught between the Commander and the Iron Bull.

            The shame of it, the temptation of it, the thrill…Maker she wanted it badly.

            In the morning, Hadiza was quiet, breaking down their small camp to continue their journey into the Graves. She did not meet Bull’s eyes, nor did she join in the banter of her party that day. It was, perhaps, the longest journey back to Skyhold she’d ever taken.

 


	10. The Lion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fucking finally, honestly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this chapter, despite its brevity, took me forever to write. This is due to the fact that at any given time I have several stories and series' turning in my head. I have issues that affect my writing ability and my inspiration and so sometimes characters call to me more strongly than others. In this case, I had to leave this story to focus on others until it was time to revisit. I've learned over the years in writing that one simply can't force these things as it shows clearly in the writing. Plus, I've been wanting to write this particular moment for a while, if only to galvanize the rest of the story. As always, read and comment if you're down for it. <3

 

           The Commander was agitated.

            Not his usual agitation; the troops’ training was going swimmingly, reports were written, revised, and delivered in a timely fashion, and for all intents and purposes things were running as smooth and controlled as Cullen could ever want them to be. He valued that smoothness, the control, and that everything was as it should have been.

            What he couldn’t control was how he reacted when the Inquisitor was…around.

            Her presence was at once baffling and beguiling to him, yet infuriating. She was a mage, a mage who took pride in her magic—unfathomable _joy_ in it—she used her magic liberally and without shame, reveling in her gift. She did not fear possession or any of the dangers mages posed, nor did she seem to chase more power through blood magic. Cullen wondered if the Chantry’s view on mages was more out of fear of another Tevinter Imperium than anything else.

            And then he remembered that it had been two days since he got any semblance of rest. He remembered clawed hands cupping his face, sharp nails teasing along his jaw, a forked tongue flicking out to taste his trembling mouth.

            Cullen stood abruptly, walking toward the small window to breathe in the cold air and clear his head.

            He had not expected to find a friend in Hadiza, and yet, every week she would request a game of chess with him. It was…nice. He had not thought her serious when she said they should spend more time together, but she had made an effort to keep at least an hour of her schedule clear for him when she was in Skyhold.

            During those times he was allowed to know her.

            “So what was it like, growing up in such a large place?” Cullen asked her over a game. They’d elevated from gaming to having tea and those little Antivan sugar cookies set out. It was no longer a strange sight, to see the Inquisitor and her Commander engaged in a game of chess at the end of the week. Hadiza smiled, moving a piece.

            “Oh I suppose it was alright. Most of the time, my sister and I spent it outside, driving mother mad. Father always wanted sons, you see, and so…” She narrowed her eyes at Cullen’s next move, “…we were allowed certain leniencies not afforded to other noble daughters. This might have gone over well when we were children, but…after a while mother took a sterner approach.”

            Cullen was surprised. He could not picture Hadiza, with her haughty and proud features, wrestling and engaging in fistfights in the dirt. He smiled at the thought, thinking of the young and scrawny lass, two front teeth missing, scrapping in the yard with some rude boy. It was amusing and heartwarming at the same time.

            That was how their games went, most of the time. For weeks they played, for weeks they learned. He grew up in a tiny village on the ass end of the Frostbacks near the Kocari Wilds, she grew up in Ostwick, a noble daughter given up to the Circle. He loved dogs, she had always wanted a Mabari.

            He loved her laugh. Maker’s breath did he love it. It was a throaty sound that ended in a high trill of pure and unadulterated joy. And the fact that she loved to laugh made it more endearing. He wished he were funnier, he never wanted her to stop laughing, the way her mouth opened, and her eyes shut, and she threw back her head and tossed her jet black hair.

            Cullen decided he liked her. He liked her quite a bit.

            And that frightened him.

            Sometimes, she was pensive, focused on the game. She was improving, and given time, she might have been able to truly beat him without him needing to ease up.

            Yes, the Commander was agitated.

            Two weeks, she’d been gone, in the Hinterlands again. She sent him missives via Leliana’s ravens, and most of the time she complained that there was a bear problem in the Hinterlands.

 

_C,_

_Why in the Void does Ferelden have so many bears? Are you not called dog-lords? Where are the wild Mabari? Puppies? Nugs? Anything? Why is it always bears? And always where I want to make camp? It’s unsettling…although bear meat is actually rather delectable when prepared properly. I’ve enclosed a recipe for the kitchens, courtesy of Iron Bull._

_I’ve sent some more ‘Bottles of Thedas’ I found for the wine cellar. Please don’t tell the Chargers._

_Oh! We came across another red lyrium cache. I turned it to ash. Expect more arrivals soon. They’ll bear my mark and a message for each of the triumvirate._

_And I’ve always wanted a Mabari. Is that strange? They seem handy in a fight, or is that a Ferelden quirk?_

_-Ink._

            She signed with ‘Ink’ since taking on the title of “Inquisitor”, something he found amusing, actually. He quickly penned a response, and guiltily glanced down at the missive he’d received from his sister. It was a two page letter, at once lambasting him for not telling her he’d been sent to Kirkwall, then not telling her he’d left Kirkwall for the Inquisition, and then worrying over him, asking questions, informing him of all the good things that had happened since he’d left for the Templar Order.

            He was an uncle twice-over, and that alone was enough to make his head reel. He couldn’t think of a response to her, how to tell her what happened to him without _telling_ her what happened to him, but he could write to the Inquisitor regarding her concerns about bears.

            It was easier than having to thumb through the archives of his memories and summon the old hurts, the old terror, and the nightmares that chased him into his sleep and beyond.

            No, he was not ready to write to Mia. Not yet. Not without his hands trembling and his bones beginning to ache. The symptoms would only get worse in the months to come, but he had to do this; for himself and for the sake of the Inquisition. He dipped his quill in the inkwell and began to write.

           

 

_Ink,_

_Mabari are rare and thus there are no wild breeds of the dog. I’ll be sure to pass along your grievances to Queen Anora regarding the bear infestation. The skins would be welcome mayhap as handouts to the refugees? Winters in Ferelden are no small thing, if you recall._

_As for Mabari, I am sure you can use your clout to requisition some if it would please you. A kennel would not be out of the question here at the keep. You need only ask._

_I await your return. You do owe me another game, after all._

_Very Respectfully,_

_C_

            So it was between them, for a time. When Hadiza returned with her combat party, with new stories to tell and covered in dust and dirt from the road, she would first go to the war room to debrief, pacing and talking about what she’d seen and what should be done. Then she would seek their counsel.

            When they would finally leave the war room, Hadiza would take one last pensive glance over the map, and satisfied that all plans had been made to the best of their ability, take her leave.

            Where she went, no one truly asked, although she was seen frequently in the tavern. Cullen did not take Hadiza for the drinking type, and assumed she sought the company of her traveling companions in the evenings.

            The day she came to his office unannounced changed everything. He’d been thumbing through one of the books in his personal library, a well-worn copy of _Hard In Hightown_ , when he heard the knock.

            “Enter.” He called in that lazy drawl of command he was known for when he was already exasperated. The door opened and Hadiza slipped inside, eyes bright. She looked…healthier. Cullen immediately stood, trying not to knock his chair over in the process.

            “Inquisitor! Oh…good…you’re here.” He felt foolish as soon as the words tumbled from his mouth, and raised eyebrows accented her smile, making him feel even more nervous.

            “Were you waiting for me?” She asked him and Cullen decided now would be a perfect time to speak with her. Their correspondence had grown more informal of late and he…he did wonder. He did not want to presume and make himself look the fool.

            “No.” He said and silently cursed himself. “I mean yes!” He amended but that didn’t sound right either. He did not want to appear overly eager or overly dismissive and yet he had managed to accomplish both in the same breath. Hadiza tilted her head, black hair tumbling over her shoulder like a river of ink. She’d been letting it grow out over the months and Cullen wondered what it would feel like to weave those locks between his fingers.

            “Oh. So I’ve kept and _not_ kept you waiting, then? Quite an accomplishment.” Hadiza teased. Cullen’s face burned.

            “Maker’s Breath…can I start over?” He looked upward as if expecting the Maker to grant him permission to reset and try again. Hadiza kept looking at him, amused and expectant. Cullen sighed and decided to simply ask her.

            “Was there something you needed from me, Inquisitor?” He asked her and she blinked, somewhat nonplussed. The entire situation was confused but then she seemed to laugh to herself, shaking her head.

            “Can we speak somewhere more private? Alone if you please?” She asked and Cullen wanted the ground to open up and swallow him. Was something the matter? Had he erred in some way? Had Cassandra spoken to her and thus prompted this unexpected visit? He recalled her letters to him; nothing of the sort. The worst of his pains were in the night and he managed well enough despite the lack of sleep. He had beseeched the apothecary for aid with the headaches and thus far had managed to keep his symptoms under control. Most days he was irritable but as the Inquisition had come to expect their Commander to be grouchy and impatient, it served to hide the true nature of his irritability well. Cassandra knew, but said nothing. As far as he knew, she withheld her judgment.

            “Alone?” He repeated lamely and Hadiza sighed.

            “I could always come back another time if you’d prefer…” Cullen rubbed the back of his neck because at the moment it was the only thing that kept him from tripping over his own lack of social graces.

            “No, no! It’s fine. I just…I wasn’t expecting…” Hadiza was heading toward the side door that led to the battlements. She jerked her head, smiling.

            “Come on. You’ll feel better once you’ve breathed the fresh air.”

            They walked, and for a time there was only silence. Cullen’s mind raced and he wondered briefly what Hadiza wanted to discuss. She did not seem angry, and he wondered if his next words—whatever they may be—would change that. It seemed no matter what happened, when they spoke, he always managed to say something to annoy her.

            “It’s a nice…day…” He said lamely and his voice was almost snatched by the crisp breeze blowing across the battlements. Hadiza didn’t seem to hear him so he repeated himself, perhaps a little too loudly.

            “What?” She asked, blinking, clearly puzzled. Cullen’s face burned and he rubbed the back of his neck, silently cursing his lack of tact. He did not get recruited to the Inquisition for that particular trait but…he had never had much luck talking to women. They would flirt, he would trip over his own tongue. There was no hope for it.

            “There was something you wished to discuss?” He prompted, turning the attention away from his growing anxiety. Hadiza stopped and he paused next to her. For a moment, she looked…conflicted. She bit her lip and Cullen found his gaze drawn inexorably to her mouth. It was a pleasant shape, almost like a heart, full and satin-looking. He often wondered what it would be like to kiss her, to watch her eyes shut in bliss, to breathe her in and hold her close…

            “Cullen,” Her voice cut through the veil of his daydream and he blinked away the haze, “I’ve come to…”

            Cullen’s eyes grew a little wider, the question hovering on the tip of his tongue.

            “I’ve come to care for you and…” It was Hadiza turn to be flustered, but she seemed more frustrated with herself than anything. She knifed her fingers through her hair, mussing it but looking no less fetching. Cullen envied her that in a brief moment of vanity; if he mussed his hair he just looked as if he’d been rolling about in his bed.

            “It’s just…could you, would you ever find it in yourself to care for me—a mage?” Hadiza looked at him then, her expression guileless and Cullen understood. It was only a matter of time before his past caught up to him. The rumors that surrounded his name, his past dealings with mages in Kirkwall, his vehement and disgusting words…dehumanizing even. He felt ashamed in her presence. Here she was admitting that she cared for him but the only thing keeping her away was his foolishness and inherent fear and distrust of men and women like her.

            No, there was no one like her.

            “I could…I mean…I do.” Cullen shook his head. “I have thought of what I might say in this sort of situation. It is just…” Hadiza moved closer, her expression prompting him to continue.

            “Yes?” She offered. Cullen laughed helplessly, looking away.

            “You’re the Inquisitor; the Herald of Andraste to many…we’re at war on multiple fronts. I never would have considered it given our circumstances. And I never would have thought you would even…think of me, in that way.” Hadiza smiled and Cullen felt his heart beat stronger, and then she sighed, reaching up with one delicate hand to splay it on his armored chest, warmed by the midday sun.

            “And yet I am still here, Cullen. I’m still here.” Cullen felt something ease inside of him, like stone crumbling. A little light shone in a part of himself he had thought long buried. He remembered another face in that brief moment, remembered the youthful infatuation of ten years gone by, and then he saw Hadiza. She was still here, and her gaze was steady, waiting, expectant.

            “And so you are,” Cullen agreed, taking her hand in his and stepping forward, “It seems too much to ask, but Maker, I want to…” He leaned in, a hair’s breadth from her mouth, wanting to taste her, wanting to affirm what had been burgeoning between the both of them through letters and stolen glances.

            “Commander!” A new voice cut through the moment like a honed blade and both Commander and Inquisitor broke apart awkwardly, although Cullen did not turn to face the offending individual. Instead, he got ahold of his temper, which flared briefly at the interruption, ruining what should have been a moment of perfection. Taking a deep breath, he turned.

            “ **What**?” He barked, eyes blazing. It was common knowledge in the ranks that the Commander was irritable, grouchy, and generally short-tempered with his troops. Few dared to cross him and those who did paid for it in extra duties or extended training. As it stood, this was not one of his men, but one of Leliana’s agents.

            “You wanted a copy of Sister Leliana’s report,” The agent said as if reminding him and Cullen’s expression did not change, but the furrow in his brow deepened and Hadiza swore a growl was rumbling in the man’s chest. The agent blinked.

            “Sister Leliana’s report?” He reminded. “You said you wanted it delivered to you straight away.” Cullen’s face seemed to take on an intensity and gravity likened to a gathering storm. It was only when he took a few steps closer to the agent, the lion’s gold of his eyes glittering with fury, that it was understood a grave mistake had been made. Only then did the young agent notice Hadiza—the Inquisitor—awkwardly trying to hide her face. He turned his gaze back to the Commander, who hadn’t blinked, and then began to back away.

            “Or…to your office…” He amended and hurried off to leave the report on his desk and hopefully never have to deliver anything to the Commander ever again. Hadiza hid a smile behind her hand.

            “Cullen, I’m sorry. I have kept you from your duties, it seems. But if you need to—oh!” Cullen turned on her, and took her arm, pulling her to him. Their lips met, awkward at first, but then Hadiza felt herself melt clear out of her skin, her bones turning to water.

            The Commander, it seemed, was quite a skilled kisser, if a little aggressive.

            Her lips parted in a sigh, his tongue snaked into her mouth, gentle and insistent and her arms went around his neck to hold him to her. Her eyes shut and she wanted to float away in the sky and never come down. All too soon, Cullen pulled away with a small gasp, blinking, surprised at his own initiative, cheeks ruddy from blushing and the crisp wind.

            “I’m so sorry,” He said softly, his tongue touching his lips to savor the taste of her on them, “…Maker. That was very nice.” Hadiza had not unlocked her arms from about his neck, and she swayed a little, heavy-lidded and smiling.

            “That was exactly what I wanted.” She assured him and Cullen returned her smile, bashful with a hint of boyish mischievousness.

            “Oh,” He murmured, leaning in, lips brushing her own, “….good.”

            And it was.

 


	11. The Champion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which my Hawke is apparently a dick. Sheesh.

   

"Really, n****?" --Persephone Hawke, probably.

 

         While things had seemingly worked out for the best as far as the budding relationship between Hadiza and Cullen, things in the war room had gotten intense, at least that day. Hadiza was angry.

            No, she was frustrated, but usually that gave way to anger.

            “You’re telling me Orlais won’t budge because they’re at war over who is going to control Orlais?” Hadiza demanded. Josephine cleared her throat, glancing over her notes.

            “The civil war predates the Breach, I’m afraid,” she explained, “but not even the threat of the world’s destruction can halt the Game.”

            Hadiza made a disgusted noise that would have made Cassandra proud.

            “Sod the bloody Game,” She muttered, then sighed, leaning over the war table, glaring hard at the map, as if her will alone could galvanize Orlais into submission. Cullen admired Hadiza’s determination…her patience with nobility far exceeded his own. Were it up to him he’d conscript the whole blighted country for their war and be done with it. It was likely for the best that Josephine was the diplomat.

            “Alright,” Hadiza said at last, “what do we have to do to stabilize this and move onto the real threat?” She stood from her tense lean, still glaring at the map, frowning slightly. Josephine smiled brightly.

            “Empress Celine is holding a ball at the Winter Palace. The true nature of this ball is to facilitate peace talks between herself and Duke Gaspard. If we were to obtain an invitation to the ball, it should be easy to gain the Empress’ ear.” She said.

            “And do not forget we are the only ones who are aware of the threat to her life,” Cullen added, “as of now, we have a slight advantage over the enemy.”

            Leliana was very quiet, and knowing the spymaster, that either boded well for them and ill for someone else…or she was about to give them bad news.

            As it turned out, she had nothing to offer at that time and remained quiet, but Hadiza could practically see the gears of her complex mind working out every possibility and angle. It was frightening to witness if one knew what to look for.

            “So get us an invitation, Ambassador,” Hadiza said, “and get us outfitted for a ball. In the meantime, I must meet Varric’s…contact regarding Corypheus. Anything else that needs to be discussed?” She glanced around. Her advisors shook their heads.

            “Right.” Hadiza said. “Then we are adjourned for the day.”

            As they left the war room, Cullen stayed behind, as had become customary. Normally, it was under the guise of wanting to discuss something further but really it was just so he could be in her presence a little longer before his duties consumed him for the rest of the day.

            “Commander, you seem to think we’ve a chance of untangling that viper’s nest in Orlais,” Hadiza said teasingly, “…you’re more of an optimist than I thought if that’s the case.”

            Cullen chuckled, his hand resting easily on his sword.

            “That is hardly the case, Inquisitor. I only believe that if we focus solely on accomplishing the mission and are careful not to get tangled up in the Game, we will manage to get what we’re after without too much hassle.”

            Hadiza shrugged her shoulders.

            “So you say. I’ll not gainsay you, of course, but I’ve a feeling the Game is a lot more complex than Josephine and Leliana let on. They make it sound as if it were run of the mill politicking but I grew up around that. I believe what we are about to witness is something far more sinister and thrice as complex.” Cullen waited a moment, hovering between wanting to gather her up in his arms and keeping the professional distance they maintained even in that moment. Hadiza decided for him, walking toward him, leaning upward to kiss the corner of his mouth.

            “We’d better get to work. Josephine doesn’t waste time, and I’ll not have invitations to a ball sitting on my desk when there’s so much I need to do to prepare.” Cullen’s cheeks were red as she spoke and he ached to kiss her mouth but she pulled away, heading toward the door, smiling at him over his shoulder. For a moment, he thought he saw her face change shape; like a shadow passing over the moon. His brow furrowed briefly, but when he blinked she was already heading down the hall.

            Perhaps his lack of sleep was getting to him truly.

 

 

 

            Persephone Merishka Hawke—or simply, Merishka Hawke as she liked to be called—was not the formidable presence Hadiza expected of the famed Champion of Kirkwall. She had been confined in the Circle during that decade of Merishka’s rise to fame and power, and as the woman descended the steps, clad in hodgepodge armor pieces that she somehow managed to make look stylish, Hadiza could only describe the Champion in one word: _exasperated_.

            “I’ll let you two get acquainted.” Varric had told her, and left the two women to it. Merishka was tall, though not as tall as Hadiza, but bore the same dark skin as she. Her hair was jet black, pulled to a loose braid that fell down her back, and her eyes were a warm brown that reminded Hadiza of coffee splashed with a bit of cream. Merishka also painted her lips a deep and vibrant purple, which gave her a wild appearance.

            “So.” She began with a wry smile. “Corypheus is back and crankier than ever, eh?” Hadiza returned the smile with a shrug.

            “From my exchange with him, yes. Seemed a bit put-off about Tevinter not being the dominant superpower in Thedas anymore.” At that, Merishka let out a bark of derisive laughter.

            “Still? Maker’s breath I suppose if that’s the hill he’s chosen to die on…alright, then. I just don’t understand how he could have survived. When Varric and I fought him, we beat him. He was dead on the ground; his body was a lifeless husk.” Hawke leaned against the wall of the battlements, her expression one of pure consternation.

            Hadiza understood her frustration. From Varric’s account, the fight to even get _to_ Corypheus had been harrowing enough, and Corypheus strange connection to the darkspawn and the Blight had given him nigh complete control of the Grey Wardens, to the point where even Anders had nearly become an abomination and turned on Hawke and himself. When they’d finally breached Corypheus’ prison, the magister had been confused and disoriented, thinking himself still in the golden age of the Tevinter Imperium. When he found it was not so, he had attacked them and Hawke had defeated him.

            By all accounts, Corypheus had been slain.

            So what the fuck was he doing tearing Thedas to pieces?

            “I heard he has an archdemon at his beck and call,” Hawke said bitterly, “and that you faced it down at Haven.”

            “It was only a blighted dragon. I don’t think it was an archdemon…not truly. There have been reports of darkspawn activity around Thedas, but nothing that betokens a true Blight. Isn’t that usually what happens when an archdemon appears? Darkspawn becomes a horde and tries to sweep the land?” Hadiza replied picking at the embroidered edge of her tunic. Hawke crossed her arms, canting her head.

            “I wouldn’t know, honestly,” She said gravely, “have you asked Blackwall? He’s a Warden, yeah? Right up his alley.” Hadiza brightened a little. No, she hadn’t asked Blackwall about the possibility of another Blight since Haven, and she mentally kicked herself for the oversight. She made a note to do so later when she had the time to speak with him. He was the only Warden they’d been able to find this entire time.

            “Although,” Hawke continued and Hadiza looked up sharply, “I’ve a contact in the Wardens that may be able to help. He’s holed up at Crestwood right now but if you want we can go and speak with him. Crestwood is in pretty bad shape as well, last I heard.”

            Hadiza silently thanked the Maker.

            “That sounds like a plan to me,” She agreed, “I’ll need a few days to assemble my team, brief my advisors, and gather supplies for the journey. I…” Hadiza paused, questions aplenty crowding her mouth but she swallowed them. Hawke saw her expression and sighed tiredly.

            “Ask. Go on. I know you want to know things. Inquisitor and all that.”

            Hadiza blinked but Hawke merely waved her hand.

            “For starters, don’t ask me about him.”

            “Him?” Hadiza parroted, puzzled. Hawke fixed her with a level stare and Hadiza racked her brain for an answer. She remembered Varric telling the story, and remembered reading the account in his book.

            Anders.

            “Oh.” She said. “Yes. No, I would not presume to pry. I just…how did it all…”

            “…go tits-up?” Hawke supplied. “Simple, really. No one in Kirkwall wanted to solve their own fucking problems, and somehow I was the one they called to clean up messes left behind by those too stupid, irresponsible, or arrogant to do it themselves. The fact that the Knight Commander was batshit insane didn’t help either.”

            Hadiza stared, silent. Hawke had likely told this story a thousand times as she didn’t even sound the least bit distressed recalling all the events.

            “My unlikely band of misfits and yours truly were Kirkwall’s unofficial clean-up crew,” She said with a little malicious humor, “did your apostate child you’ve been hiding from the insane Templars shit the bed through the Fade? Call Hawke! Hawke will wipe that kid’s ass and launder the soiled bed covers for the small price of getting involved with _all_ your fucking problems. Did your daughter run off with a band of brigands and is now being held hostage somewhere on the Wounded Coast? Fuck calling the proper authorities, call on Hawke. In the dead of night. At her home. Regardless of whatever she had planned, she can always drop all of that shit just for you.”

            Hadiza laughed despite herself. Hawke’s smile was sharp, wry, but there was a weariness there, a sign that while she bore these events in good humor, they had taken a different toll on her. Hadiza was familiar with the fact that Hawke was the only surviving member of her family with that surname. She had lost her brother to the Deep Roads, her sister to the Blight, and her mother to blood magic.

            Beneath that cutting wit and easy charm was one long fissure in the soul.

            “Anyway, if that’s all you wanted to know, honestly, I need to prepare to leave. I’ll see you in Crestwood ere the week is over, yeah?”

            “Yes. Safe journey, Champion.”

            “Just Hawke, if you please.”

            “My apologies. Safe journey, Hawke.”

            Thus were the Inquisitor and Champion met.

 

 

 

            The Fade had become increasingly dangerous, but Hadiza knew that Iron Bull would not let her falter. He had made good on his word, and she had come to him, seeking help. She had not known what to expect, and by the time he had finished working on her, Hadiza had never felt more replete. She had been too exhausted to ask him how he knew and before long had slipped into her dreams, and further into the Fade.

            There, the desire demon waited for her, but the predator took one look at Hadiza and those dark eyes widened in mild surprise.

            “I cannot taste you,” It said, mildly unnerved, “why can I not taste you?” Hadiza inclined her head somewhat, silver eyes glittering with renewed confidence.

            “My desires have been met, demon,” She said ominously, “make peace with whatever deities you must.” Hadiza’s hands glowed, lightning crackling as the demon sought to defend itself. For all the demon had tormented her for many week gone by, Hadiza found that Bull was right: take away its power, and she could beat it effortlessly. Her shield was more than sufficient enough to deflect its attacks and she spared no mercy as she brought down the apocalyptic fireballs, relentless, joyful, _cackling_ as the desire demon writhed in the flames.

            Hadiza felt the demon burn away, its shrieks dying into hisses and finally silence, leaving only a smoldering mark where it once stood. That too vanished as the Fade asserted itself, and Hadiza felt a feeling of vindication well up in her chest and she felt as if there was a great shadow banished from her soul.

            The Fade melted away, leaving only darkness, and Hadiza opened her eyes to her chambers in Skyhold. Smiling, she lay still. The embers in her fireplace had died to a weak glow, but dawn had not yet come although she could feel it would be soon. She shared a grin with the darkness of her bedchamber and slid under the thick blanket, rolling in the sheets, relishing the feel of the silk against her satin skin as she let out a low and throaty laugh heard only by herself.

            She was free.


	12. Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aja Trevelyan finally makes her debut.

"If you haven't thought about killing them at least once, you're probably not related."

 

            Folk often spoke well of noblewomen from the Free Marches. It was a common fact that while they were still gentlebred, they were most assuredly made of sterner stuff than those Orlesian masquerades that flitted about in the Imperial court. Marcher noblewomen were the heart of the household, expected to uphold the tenets of their respective names, and to be the very embodiment of sophistication, haughtiness, faith, and class.

            Aja Trevelyan fit none of these characteristics; at least, not entirely. Having been raised a warrior alongside her elder sister because their father had not been able to sire sons, Aja was the embodiment of a warrior of nobility, with the soft, haughty features of House Trevelyan, and the carriage of one long adhered to the tenets of the sword and shield. She swore with a sailor’s eloquence, drank like a fish, and brawled like a pirate; and ‘twas fitting, seeing as how she had completed a tenure crewing under the now Admiral Isbabella, the Rivaini pirate of much renown due to her connection with the Champion of Kirkwall and her own scoundrel-worthy deeds. When Aja’s feet touched land for the last time, Isabella had sent her off in the only way that seemed fitting: a grand party. The ale overflowed, and the sailors were deep in their cups ere the night expired. Aja for her part had enjoyed Isabela’s ship during her time, but a summons from Bann Trevelyan pulled her from the sea and back into the tangle of noble politics once more.

            Speaking to her father after so long abroad was no longer as harrowing as she once thought, still, Edward Trevelyan was a man who was used to having his orders followed, and he was still her father…and she was the still the youngest child. So she listened as he rattled off a litany of reprimands for the rumors surrounding her name, and consequently, his own. When he was finished, he moved on to the true reason he had tracked her down.

            “There is a rumor,” He said to her, standing before the grand fireplace in the large drawing room, nursing a glass of something brown and no doubt well-aged, “the Herald of Andraste is of House Trevelyan. I have no been able to garner concrete proof of this, but if it is your sister, I need you to find her.”

            Aja wanted to roll her eyes, and so she did. Even now, over a decade later, it was about her sister! She had given up a good life at sea to be sent on some fetch quest any of her father’s retinue and a handful of mercenaries could accomplish?

            No, there had to be more to it than that.

            “So you want me to find her and then what?” Aja asked, spreading her hands, “Convince her to speak with you?”

            Bann Trevelyan was frowning, one hand resting on one of the elegant marble carvings of the fireplace, while he sipped his drink.

            “Yes and no. I merely need confirmation that it is indeed Hadiza. If she still carries the Trevelyan name and she is indeed the Herald of Andraste—the Inquisitor—then I need to make amends and have her reinstated.”

            Aja could not believe this.

            “Are you fucking serious, father?” She demanded and Edward’s eyes snapped to her, dark and foreboding, but Aja had faced down worse things than her father in her years abroad. She’d not be cowed by a stern glare.

            “You hate mages,” Aja continued, “’twas no secret. That’s why you wanted us to become Templars and serve. And the night you found out she was a mage you didn’t even hesitate; even when she fell off the battlements and broke her damned arm. You sent her to the Circle to rot!”

            “I had no choice!” Bann Trevelyan shot back with a roar. “And do not play innocent with me, Aja. The Knight Commander—“

            “Was fucking our mother,” Aja said maliciously, “your _wife_. Mother did everything in her power to hide Hadiza from him and you gave her up when there was no need.”

            The tension that followed was stretched taut, like a bowstring threatening to snap the bow from too much stress. Edward looked away.

            “I always knew about Evangeline and the Knight Commander. I had told her to stop seeing him, told her to think of what might happened if either of them were caught. It would ruin our family and he would be disgraced and the Order’s reputation tarnished.”

            Aja let out a derisive snort, “Order had no need of help tarnishing their reputation, believe you me.” Edward ignored the comment and continued.

            “But she kept seeing him. I knew she did. She had that…look about her. When Hadiza was revealed to be a mage, I was angry. She thought she had revealed your mother’s secret to me, but I already knew. I thought…” Edward shook his head, strengthening his resolve.

            “It matter not what I thought. Whatever bad blood is between your sister and me can be resolved, but I need you to bridge the gap that we may begin to mend old hurts. Can you for once in your life just do as I ask, Aja? Prove yourself worthy of the Trevelyan name.”

            Aja’s face burned and she felt her blood turn to magma in her veins as she clenched her fists by her sides.

            “Certainly, Your Grace,” She said acidly through gritted teeth, “but may the Maker have mercy on whatever comes of it because I doubt my sister is so eager to hear from you again.”

            And with that, Aja turned on her heel and left the Trevelyan Estate, and soon after, was on the first boat out of Ostwick to sail to Ferelden.

 

 

 

            The Red Templar problem was growing, and Hadiza was displeased. She felt like a surgeon with too little thread to stitch the ruptures in Thedas. Every susurrus of rumor resulted in another gaping wound of red lyrium, and there was Hadiza, stitching and stitching, closing rifts and dodging the wrath of giants the entire way.

            Then there were the Venatori.

            “Is there no fucking end to the madness?” Hadiza almost shouted in the war room one day, shocking her advisors to silence. She let out a frustrated noise and began to pace, having lost her patience.

            “I am one fucking person,” She began, fixing her advisors with her blade-edged gaze, “I cannot spread myself thin like butter over bread every time a rumor of Red Templars and crazed Venatori crops up. If your agents cannot handle it—and I mean they truly lack the resources and skills—then I will go. But every single problem like this does not require my direct attention, not when Corypheus has gone quiet and the Empress’ life is as yet still in danger.”

            For a moment she was quiet, stilling her pacing to look at all three of them.

            “Now,” She continued, somewhat calmer, “I have yet to meet Hawke and her Warden contact in Crestwood, and I would much appreciate it if you all took care of the minor issues while I chase a lead that could aid us in stopping the bigger threat.”

            “Of course, Inquisitor,” Josephine said softly. It was clear Hadiza was tired, and for the first time, they saw the human woman beneath the titles, and the slight shadows under her eyes. Heavy was the head that wore the crown, as the old adage went, but Hadiza bore no crown.

            No, Cullen observed, she simply bore the weight of every soul in Thedas upon her strong shoulders. He ached for her then, wanting to hold her and tell her he’d handle it, but then his gaze drifted to her marked hand and remembered the Breach responding to her, violent and erratic and utterly terrifying. He remembered seeing it sealed, leaving only a scar of sickly green in the sky.

            She was the only one who could save them, truly.

            “So, have we made any headway in Emprise du Lion, yet, spymaster?” Hadiza asked. Leliana gave an imperceptible shake of her head.

            “My agents are closing in, but it is heavily overrun with Red Templars, Herald. I believe given a few weeks, we will be able to breach the outskirts and set up an outpost.” Leliana’s voice was gentle, and the lilt of Orlesian in her voice was truly the mark of her trade as a bard; conceal the blade gliding beneath the binding satin of her voice. It made her twice as frightening, even more so since the Divine’s death. Leliana had become singularly determined in her work, keeping late and obscene hours, holed up in the rookery, spinning a web for the Inquisition.

            Hadiza wondered if her determination was born out of faith, a desire for vengeance for what was done, or even worse: a commingling of both. It mattered not; Leliana had chosen the Inquisition, and they were all the better for it.

            “It’s something, at least.” Hadiza murmured, both in acknowledgement of Leliana’s update and of her own thoughts.

            “Let’s move on to this request made by Queen Anora. Something about an infiltration?”

            They continued like this for some time, and Hadiza was polite enough to hold her tongue regarding just what she thought of Ferelden’s queen and how first they met. Anora was firm, but she had been…less than gracious when met with the one person in Thedas who could put a stop to the madness. Hadiza did not bear a grudge, but Anora’s apology in her letter had given her a profound sense of smug satisfaction.

            “Right, so we send a few agents to deal with this threat and—“

            The door to the war room opened. The sound was so jarring to all present that each of them froze. Cullen’s grip on his sword pommel was firmer, and Leliana _shifted_ , and had Hadiza not been trained in such arts she may have missed it. Leliana gracefully unclasped her hands from behind her back and her weight shifted to the balls of her feet just so. Hadiza felt power gathering at her own fingertips.

            “Ethan!” Cullen barked and Hadiza turned. “What is the meaning of this disturbance?”

            The threat, it seemed, was no more than a young lieutenant. He was a pale lad with limp, blonde hair, and his pale eyes darted to each other advisors and finally Hadiza.

            “My apologies, Commander!” He said quickly but Cullen’s expression could put a thunderhead to shame. “It’s just that…there’s a disturbance, in the courtyard. We don’t know how much longer we can contain it.”

            “Contain it?” Hadiza queried, worried as her mind leapt immediately back to Haven and the contempt on Corypheus’ face as he promised her death…even if she was not a threat to him.

            “Yes, Your Worship…it’s…well…please…if you would all just come see for yourselves…Maker no one’s been killed but we don’t know—“ That was all it took, really, and the four heads of the Inquisition were in motion.

            Hadiza was already silently promising whoever was causing the stir a long confinement in the deepest, darkest hole she could find in the mountains as she stalked the main hall.

            Outside, in the courtyard, just past the main gate, was a skirmish taking place. Hadiza froze. Cullen frowned.

            “Who is that?”

            Hadiza said nothing. The figure in the center of the fray moved with an uncharacteristic grace, sword and shield working in concert with inexorably complex footwork. Hadiza knew the steps as if she’d created them herself. Left foot slid back, locked defense stance, right leg dug in, momentum building up, shield arm up in defense, dip, weave, pivot, shield-bash, downward sword slash…

            “Herald?” Hadiza came out of her daze as the tall figure continued, a stream of black dreadlocks trailing behind her with each spin, pivot, and leap.

            That was, until Blackwall got involved. The two clashed like beasts in the wild. Hadiza knew both warriors, but she had never thought they’d ever clash in the same arena. It lasted perhaps ten minutes before Blackwall was able to break the woman’s guard and restrain her at the point of his sword. As Hadiza and her advisors came upon them, Blackwall did not even chance a look at the Inquisitor. Up close, there was a collective gasp as the assailant glared up at them all.

            With a pair of remarkably silver eyes set within a dark brown face.

            “So it’s true, then,” The woman spat, seemingly unbothered by Blackwall’s sword angled at her throat, “you are the head of the power-grabbing snake.”

            Josephine’s brows shot up and she glanced between Hadiza and the wild warrior on the ground.

            “Do you know this person, Herald?” She asked. Hadiza sighed, but her heart was pacing erratically and wildly. How long had it been? Ten? No, _fifteen_ years. It was as if someone had excavated and reopened old floodgates. The wounds Hadiza thought healed proved to still hurt, the scar tissue on her soul thick but aching.

            “Yes, she knows me,” The woman said irritably and lifted her hand slowly, two gloved fingers pushing aside Blackwall’s blade, but she found no give. His sword was steady and firm. He’d not budge until the Herald gave him the word.

            “Yes.” Hadiza said at last, finding her voice, hollow as it sounded. “That’s my sister.”


	13. Blood II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aja says something she shouldn't have, and Hadiza brings the noise. Cullen gets two headaches from two different situations. Shit.

"Let's get ready to rumblllllleeeeeee!!" --That Dude From _Fight Night_

 

            Hadiza’s mind was reeling, spinning out of control like some cosmic body that had fallen outside the delicate balance of its system. Her sister was here, in Skyhold. After fifteen years, Hadiza could not fathom it. She had spoken to none of her family since going to the Circle. She was not sure how to feel about this latest development, and as Blackwall helped Aja to her feet, the resemblance became even more apparent.

            Both of the Trevelyan sisters were tall and statuesque, and the indelible features of their house were stamped upon their faces in high cheekbones, full lips, and elegantly sculpted noses. For their part, the silver eyes were a trait of their mother’s line, strong ties to a lineage of magic. Where Hadiza had tempered her curves with muscle, slender and corded, Aja was a veritable powerhouse, standing in full vanguard armor, looking like some tarnished hero of legend. Where Hadiza kept her hair in a fall of oil-dark waves, bound at her nape, Aja looked took on the style of the Rivaini raiders, keeping her hair in a fall of locks down the center of her head, leaving the sides neatly shaven. Her nose was also a bit crooked, likely from being broken a few times, and a scar bisected her face in a diagonal from the top of her left brow, across her nose, and ending just shy of splitting her upper lip near the corner.

            It was clear to anyone with sight that the two had lived very contrasting lifestyles.

            “Hadiza.” Aja said with a toothy grin, and one of her canines was capped with gold. Maker’s breath had she been a Rivaini raider all this time? Hadiza wanted to spit in contempt. While she languished in the Circle, agonizing over her plight, Aja had abandoned her house to play at adventurer? Andraste be a fence!

            “Aja.” Hadiza said and the spell of winter’s grasp could not have crept into her voice any clearer with such a chilly tone. Sensing the change in mood, Josephine quickly intervened.

            “Lady Trevelyan!” Josephine’s voice was gracious and warm. “What a pleasant surprise…”

            “Is it?” Hadiza asked with barely concealed contempt. Aja’s grin tempered to a roguish smile, crooked and smug.

            “You must be the diplomat. Lady Montilyet, a pleasure.” Aja gave her a courtly bow, in the style of a gentleman. There was a slight glint in her silver eyes and Josephine felt her cheeks go warm.

            “Yes, well…” She cleared her throat, then turned to Hadiza, “…shall I have a room prepared, Inquisitor? I know ‘tis short notice but…” It was no accident that Josephine addressed Hadiza by her formal title in front of her sister. Whatever else she wished to convey, Aja knowing that she was being spared at her sister’s mercy was chief among them. Hadiza never took her eyes off of her younger sister.

            “That may not be necessary,” She said, “we’ll speak more inside.”

            Hadiza didn’t wait, and turned on her heel to head back into the keep. Aja took that moment to retrieve her shield from Blackwall. She chuckled.

            “I see not much has changed since last I saw her. Still barking orders and being bossy.” She began to strap the shield onto her back. Blackwall didn’t smile, but there was a glint of humor in his eyes.

            “I thought that was part and parcel with your noble women? But you Trevelyan women are another lot entirely, aren’t you?” Aja smirked, one eye closing in a wink.

            “You don’t know the half of it.”

 

 

 

            Inside, Hadiza decided to use the Undercroft to speak to her sister, and had told the smith and Dagna to get lost elsewhere for a while; she’d also ordered that none were to enter or risk being punished. They’d worried, of course, but Hadiza assured them she had it under control. So she waited.

            The door to the Undercroft creaked out, heavy and squeaking on the hinges and Aja poked her head around the door, slipping inside before shutting it behind her. She descended the steps with the ease of a lazy jungle cat, looking completely unbothered by the fact that this was the first time they’d seen one another in fifteen years. Hadiza remembered working her fingers to the bone writing letters. Letter to which there had been no word or response from her sister, mother, and least of all her father.

            “You’re angry.” Aja said, more as an observation than anything else. Hadiza resisted the urge to leap at her and instead took a deep breath to calm her mind.

            “What do you want, Aja? Here to follow the rest of the leeching family trying to profit from my position?”

            Aja flinched.

            “Alright, I deserved that one, but that’s not why I’m here, in a sense. I…” She glanced around at the smithy, running her fingers over a weapon rack as she tried to word her intentions carefully.

            “It was father who sent me, Hadiza. He heard about the conclave and learned that you’d been sent there as part of a delegation to bolster the mage cause. He…worried, I suppose.”

            Hadiza let out a shriek of laughter.

            “He _worried_?” She spat. “Andraste’s flaming tits, Aja. Surely you can dissemble better than this. Father has not worried for me since I was fourteen. Father has never worried for me in the fifteen years I languished in that ornate prison. Do not presume to lie for him, not here, not now.”

            Aja turned, her eyes sharp.

            “He disinherited you when you left, Hadiza. Told us to forget you existed because we would never see you again. I was supposed to inherit since you were gone but when things went bad in Kirkwall, I left.”

            “You mean the Templars wouldn’t take you, so you went to try and find a fight elsewhere.” Hadiza sneered. Aja smiled maliciously, gold tooth glinting in the light.

            “I was expelled from training due to insubordination and being prone to…outbursts. You and I both know neither one of us were ever Templar material. Their order is too rigid for either of us. You simply didn’t have time to find out because…”

            “I’m a mage.” Hadiza finished bitterly. “Because you and mother did nothing to defend me.”

            Aja frowned.

            “That’s not fair, Hadiza. Your little outburst at the dinner table that night was hardly defensible. Exposing mother’s affair like that? Honestly, did you think mother would defend you after that?”

            Hadiza was silent but the tension around her mouth spoke of a rage she kept rigidly in check. The wind whistled through the undercroft, eating away the silence between the sisters.

            “Father wants to reinstate you,” Aja said finally, “so he asked me to come here and see if the rumors were true. To see if you had actually become the Inquisitor.”

            “Of course he does,” Hadiza sneered, “the man hasn’t spoken or bothered to see if I yet breathed for fourteen years but now that I am in a position of influence and power he is suddenly concerned? Tell him to sod off.”

            “Diza…”

            “Don’t call me that!”

            Aja was stunned into silence. Hadiza ascended the stairs to the undercroft door.

            “You lost your right to call me anything but _Inquisitor_ fourteen years ago when you and mother betrayed me.”

            “What were we supposed to do, Hadiza? Let you endanger the family as an apostate? You know what they do to people who don’t turn mages in!” Aja shouted, angry, now. Hadiza didn’t care. This was an animosity that had burned in her subconscious like gasoline flames left untended. She would

            “I was fine! I was in no danger of becoming an abomination or succumbing to blood magic. I just wanted…” Hadiza felt her voice crack. All the old hurt came flooding back; fourteen years of suppression saw to that. Aja looked sullen.

            “I just wanted to be with you all. I just wanted us to be happy and not have the blighted Chantry dictating my humanity.” Hadiza dashed the unshed tears from her eyes, working the lump in her throat back to the swell in her chest, keeping the betraying badge of her misery at bay.

            Aja shifted on her feet, unable to say much in response.

            “I suppose none of that matters now, does it?” Hadiza said, laughing through the threat of tears. She made a gesture.

            “I’m the Inquisitor and I’m the only one doing anything to pull Thedas’ head out of its own ass, so of _course_ father can finally overlook the fact that I’m a mage and acknowledge my existence again.” She turned to leave.

            “Stay, if you must; resupply, and grab a fresh mount. I shall pen a response to Bann Trevelyan upon my return from Crestwood.” At that, Aja stirred.

            “Crestwood?” She said puzzled. “That place was overrun with the undead. I passed through Crestwood on the way here. If you’re going to make me wait at least allow me to accompany you and make myself useful.” At that, Hadiza leveled Aja with a cool gaze.

            “I’ve swords aplenty pledged to my service, Aja. I’ll be fine.” She said in her best ‘Inquisitor tone.’

            “Swords, yes, but sisters, no.” Aja shot back. “Can you swear to the loyalty of every man, woman, elf, and Qunari in your circle?” Hadiza’s eyes turned to steel, and Aja swore the temperature in the room dropped, only to find a mist of frost rolling off of Hadiza like little bits of steam.

            “I can.” She said quietly, the dangerous kind of quiet that cloaked a raw fury beneath. “Not a one has betrayed our cause, not a one has sought to use me for their own ends. They are friends as well as comrades-at-arms. _You_ are the one who sold me out to father, and now, fifteen years later _you_ are the one coming here at his behest to curry favor and forgiveness to use my influence to bolster his own status. I can swear to the loyalty of every man, woman, elf, and Qunari within my circle, Aja. What I am unsure of is what _you_ want from me.”

            Aja’s armored fists clenched but not from anger, just from indignation.

            “Truly the title of Inquisitor has already gone to your head. Without it, you’re just another mage.”

            And that’s when Hadiza lost her temper.

            “You think so? Alright then! Follow me!” Hadiza threw open the undercroft door and stormed out. Aja hesitated but then followed. The murmurs in the main hall died down as the two sisters burst out into the upper courtyard.

            “Just another mage!” Hadiza muttered under her breath, her anger simmering along her skin like an ant march. She stalked toward the practice yard where Cullen had his men going through shield drills. Cullen himself was speaking to Knight-Captain Rylen regarding the state of the men since Haven. Morale was higher than it had been before, and with rumors saying the Champion of Kirkwall was to join the fight, it boosted confidence.

            “Commander!” Hadiza’s voice was a whip crack over the din and Cullen looked up, eyes wide.

            “Inquisitor, is something the matter?” He asked, seeing the expression on her face. Hadiza tossed her head.

            “I need to borrow your practice field. There’s a score to be settled here.”

            Aja jogged up to stand alongside her sister.

            “A score?” Cullen echoed. Seeing Hadiza’s angry gaze and Aja’s own exasperated expression gave him new perspective.

            “I see,” He said softly then gestured to Rylen who shouted for the men to halt and clear the field, “as you will Inquisitor.”

            Hadiza turned on her sister, eyes narrowed.

            “To first blood, then? Just like when we were children?” She offered. Aja raised her brows, and said nothing. She simply allowed the challenge to eddy in the air, allowed Hadiza to look upon her scarred face and take full measure of what she was about.

            “We have not been children for a long while, Inquisitor,” Aja said softly, “but if first blood will satisfy you, then I accede. Will you be using magic?”

            “Just another mage, remember? If you are frightened I will rain the fires of the Fade down upon your head, then allow me to assure you that I’ll do nothing so drastic. I’ll not toss more magic at you than you can handle.” Hadiza sneered. Cullen glanced between the two women.

            “Inquisitor, do you think this wise?” He asked. Hadiza was already putting on her battlemage armor.

            “It’s just a spar, Commander,” Hadiza said, “nothing more, nothing less.” Cullen narrowed his eyes. He wasn’t buying it but he’d not undermine her authority in front of everyone. Later, he’d scold her for this foolishness. He knew how quickly a challenge made out of anger could take a turn for the worst. He’d broken up more than his fair share of brawls in Kirkwall. He met Aja’s gaze and Aja regarded him with an unreadable expression.

            “No swords, Hadiza?” She asked as she walked out onto the field and Hadiza followed. Hadiza said nothing. Cullen knew he’d either be picking Hadiza up off of the floor (he had seen Aja’s footwork, the woman was virtually untouchable), or there’d be a smoking crater where Aja used to be. Either way, it was going to be a headache to add to the already pounding at his temples.

            Hadiza wasn’t using her retractable staff, he noticed, and had instead a plain wooden staff with a drakestone-based focus. She’d not rain down hellfire on Aja, but she’d rain some sort of fire, it seemed. Aja deftly loosened the straps of the shield on her back but did not place it on her arm just yet. Cullen found that peculiar indeed.

            The men were still gathered along the edges of the ring.

            “Knight Captain, tell those men to get back if they want to keep their lives!” Cullen barked. Hadiza’s magic had an area of effect radius and he’d not have the infirmary cramped with men sporting mage-injuries. The last thing they needed was an accusatory finger pointed at Hadiza’s back for their own nosey negligence.

            “Ready?” Aja called. Hadiza tapped her staff once, the focus flashing with flame, and she made a grand gesture and a shimmer of blue formed around her; an arcane shield. Cullen hated that shade of blue for more reasons than he could name.

            “Ready.” Hadiza called back. As if they were about to dance—which was not far from the truth—both duelists inclined their heads and bowed to one another. Cullen knew the basic rules of a duel and he understood it would be to first blood. He knew Hadiza wanted him as mediator. That did not stop the spectators from gathering like vultures along the walls.

            “Maker watch over you.” Cullen murmured, his eyes lingering on Hadiza.

            Then, the two women spilled into motion.

            Iron Bull was standing at the top of the stairs, but came to stand beside Cullen just as Hadiza cast a minor focus spell. Cullen saw then why Aja had merely loosened the straps. The shield flipped easily onto her arm, the focus spells splashing along its rude surface. Her stance was grounded and she didn’t even budge an inch.

            “She’s testing the water.” Bull said, noting Hadiza’s casting had not elevated beyond mere focus, which Aja blocked with ease, pressing forward each time. Cullen made a murmur of agreement.

            “You see Aja’s footwork earlier? Blackwall said the woman puts a storm to shame. But Hadiza’s handy in a fight as well.”

            Cullen chuckled. He knew that much. He’d read the reports. However, he soon learned that that’s not what Bull meant.

            There came a point, a lull in the duel that betokened that the testing of the waters was finished, when Aja changed from defense to offense. Whatever else Cullen had expected, it was not a full charge. Hadiza was prepared, angling her staff and shifting her grip to use it as a melee weapon, but it put her on the defensive as Aja was _relentless_.

            Bull couldn’t deny it. Aja was skilled, and she’d kept up her warrior’s skills over the long years while Hadiza had toiled in the Circle. The ease with which Aja moved in the fight, the certainty of her precise striking, and the way she was steadily pushing Hadiza back led him to believe one conclusion: the Inquisitor was going to lose.

            From the steps, and even from the battlements, the Inquisition was watching.

            “Honestly,” Vivienne _tsk_ ed, “all of this could be resolved with a mediator in a private chamber.”

            “Says you, Iron Lady,” Varric countered, “but I seem to remember you freezing a certain Marquise at your party and breaking him to pieces for insulting the Inquisitor.” Vivienne did not smile but instead tilted her head just so, as if she were considering the comparison.

            “That was all part of the Game. That was all for a purpose, Varric. This? This is just petulant childishness and beneath her station.” At that, Varric shrugged.

            “You must not have siblings, then, Iron Lady. Believe me when I say that _this_ is all part of the mediating process. I know that look on the Inquisitor’s face. Shit, I’ve worn it a few times myself. Airing out grievances in this way is all part and parcel to women raised like they were.”

            On the field, the complex steps of a dance were being formed. It had become a trade-off of one sister going on the offensive, the other forced to defend, with Aja whirling and bashing from seemingly any opening she could pry open past Hadiza’s surprisingly stalwart guard.

            “Fights like a demon, that one,” Blackwall remarked from his space next to Iron Bull, “see there? Shield wall, forward thrust? Damn near impossible to block from such close quarters. If they were fighting to the death we’d have a dead Inquisitor by now.”

            “Do not jest of such things.” Cullen admonished and Blackwall and the Bull shared a knowing look.

            Hadiza leapt back, then sideways as Aja rushed forward in a charge. There was a sound like rocks breaking apart as Hadiza cast a spell.

            Rock armor.

            It did not cover her in bulky armor, as one would expect. Instead, her skin and clothing took on the texture and consistency of the hardest stone, but it left her open as she cast it, for Aja had done a tight turn to reverse her momentum, leading with her shield arm as a defense. Her sword came down as Hadiza’s staff came up and there was a sickening snap as the staff was cleaved in twain, the tip of the sword striking up sparks where it would have drawn blood and more.

            “Well that’s no good, is it?” Dorian mused. Solas said nothing, merely narrowed his eyes.

            Hadiza was not out of the fight yet. With no staff, she tossed the shattered remains aside and assumed an altogether new stance, covered in rock armor, the fissures glowing a faint blue from the arcane shield she had up. She brought up her fists and Aja gave her a death’s head grin, as if she knew something no one else did.

            “ _No_.” Blackwall said in disbelief. Iron Bull laughed. Aja pointed her sword, keeping Hadiza at arm’s length.

            “I’ll not have it said I fought an unarmed mage to first blood, Inquisitor. Go on. Choose your weapon. I’ll wait.” Aja said and Hadiza didn’t move for a moment but then relaxed. Hadiza went to the weapons rack and drew two daggers.

            “I fuckin’ _knew_ it.” Varric laughed. “Lady Trevelyan never ceases to surprise.”

            Iron Bull merely smiled. The tide turned, then, because now it was not just another mage fighting. This was Hadiza Trevelyan, the girl who would have been a Templar, Old Ricardo’s favorite pupil, the devil of the practice field. Aja commended her silently for having kept up her training all this time, and the tone of the duel changed, as Hadiza became the dangerous dervish and Aja the bulwark. Hadiza’s footwork was light on the ground, keeping always to the balls of her feet for an easy spring. It made her more agile than anyone had seen her, taking tighter turns, bringing her daggers around in a simultaneous attack and defense and forcing Aja behind her shield.

            Steels scraped iron in a continuous motion as Hadiza whirled, and then she let out a laugh, springing into a spin, dropping low, and forcing Aja to defend both high and low. The duel changed tone again, as both sisters were driven by the high of battle. Hadiza came in too close, got too confident and Aja move just enough to make her stumble, locking her leading arm beneath her sword arm and digging in. Hadiza tumbled, ass over teakettle, and landed hard on her back, forcing the breath from her lungs. She rolled before Aja could claim a victory and was on her feet, but she was down one dagger.

            “Still think I’m just another mage, _sister_?” Hadiza spat contemptuously. Both of them were panting slightly, covered in dirt, at an uneasy tension in the duel as they regained their bearings.

            “You’ll always be that, Hadiza. You’re just the first to be elevated to such a high station.” It was a careless dig and it had the desired effect. Hadiza attacked. Even short one dagger there was nothing stopping her. Aja’s shield came up, and Hadiza came forward with a rock-armored fist.

            Frost spread along the shield and it became a heavy block of ice. Hissing as the ice began to burn from being so cold, Aja dropped the shield just as Hadiza swept her foot to throw her off balance and subsequently knock her to the ground. Aja was quick, but Hadiza was quicker and before she could roll, she felt the weight of her sister on top of her. The dagger came down hard and planted itself in the dirt next to her head, the edge barely nicked Aja’s cheek. Bright red blood welled from the superficial wound, beading along her dark skin like crimson seed pearls.

            “First blood, then.” She conceded with a duelist’s nod. Hadiza did not move and for a moment Skyhold held its breath. Then, Hadiza got up and hauled her sister to her feet.

            “Looks like we’ve got a winner,” Blackwall said, “Tuh. I was sure the Lady would take the fight.”

            Cullen and Iron Bull said nothing. It seemed, for now, the score had been settled, yet for some reason there was lingering tension between the two sisters as they gathered their weapons and exited the field. The spectators did not know whether to applaud or remain silent, and so bit-by-bit, they simply dispersed, seeing as the entertainment was no longer available.

            Hadiza’s rock armor fell from her like a snake shedding skin, revealing the woman beneath. She rubbed her right hand with a wince, the knuckles swollen and already bruising.

            She met Cullen’s eyes briefly, and went back into the keep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So at this point, you all may have realized that I have ceased taking myself and especially this fic seriously. I mostly write this garbage for myself and for posterity's sake (one day I shall look back upon this era of my writing and cringe). However, if you've been silently coming along for the ride, I commend you. Shoutout to y'all leaving kudos, but especially to the like three people who left comments. Y'all the real MVP. Ayyyyy!


	14. Flashpoint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things happen, discoveries are made, etcetera.

  
“I hunger for your **sleek laugh** and your hands the color of a furious harvest.  
I want to eat the sunbeams flaring in your beauty.”   
―Pablo Neruda

 

            In the privacy of her chambers, as Dorian tended to her bruises, Cullen requested entry. It had reached a point where Dorian was used to tending Hadiza, as he often did on the road after battle. Her nudity—and her shamelessness in presenting it—had ceased to surprise him. His hands moved over her battered back with a clinical precision, glowing with green creation magic, leaving a soothing tingle in their wake. When Cullen walked in he stopped short, but Hadiza gestured for him to stay.

            “What you did out there was foolish,” He said and at Hadiza’s sigh he felt his temper—which was already on a tight enough leash—strain against his discipline. Hadiza pillowed her head on her arms.

            “No,” Dorian disagreed, “what she did was exactly what was needed to facilitate peace. At least, between herself and her sister.” He paused, prodding the dimples of Hadiza’s lower back. When she neither hissed nor yelped, he smiled.

            “All done. I’ll leave you children to it. Try not to kill one another. I’d hate to have to explain to the spymaster why we’re short a Commander.” At Cullen expression Dorian winked and excused himself. Hadiza sat up abruptly and Cullen quickly spun around, according her privacy as she dressed.

            “This is how matters are settled between my family members, Cullen. What did you expect me to do? Bear her insults with a smile? I can take that kind of abuse from prisoners I judge, I expect no more from them. But my own sister? I shall hold her to a higher standard than that.” Hadiza leaned over, stretching her sore muscles. She’d have to soak in that tincture later on to loosen them; not to mention she was considering asking Josephine to send word out that the Inquisition needed a masseuse. A long, full-body rubdown would not be amiss, right now.

            “Hadiza,” Cullen turned, seeing her watching him from across the room, her great bed between them, “I’ve seen what happens when seemingly innocuous duels go bad. I’ve broken up more than my fair share of them when the fighting went from polite to deadly serious. I have seen men killed for thinking what they did was the only way.”

            Hadiza laughed, and despite his anger, Cullen wanted to kiss her mouth for that laugh alone. She rounded the bed, closing the distance between them.

            “Cullen…Aja and I may be angry at one another, but House Trevelyan practically breeds loyalty into its scions. We would never kill one another…not unless we had absolutely no choice. We knew what we were about.” She reached up, placed a hand on his cheek. Cullen leaned into her touch, and shut his eyes despite himself. The silence lingered, awkwardly, then his eyes opened and before he knew it he was kissing her. He pulled her close, and devoured her mouth like a starving man. Hadiza barely had time to catch her breath between each melding of their lips and tongues, her arms tangling around his neck as his hands gripped her waist tightly, then slid down, dangerously low, cupping the curve of her rear and then _squeezing._

            And all at once, their world—the one that had, until then, been comprised of stolen moments on the battlements and informal letters— _shifted_.

            Hadiza let out a groan that was equal parts relief and equal parts _yes_. Cullen felt something in him come undone. They were moving toward the bed, and whom led whom was unknown. All he knew was that she had deft fingers, and he had eager hands. The buttons of her top came undone, revealing her flawless dark skin inch by glorious inch. Here was a moment Cullen had not dreamed possible. He wanted to kiss this skin; badly. So he did. Hadiza’s response to his mouth was like a woman who knew her own mind, but as yet still had much she did not know of herself, such as the tender spot along her graceful throat as Cullen nipped it with his teeth then soothed it with his tongue.

            They were barely able to ride one another out of clothes and armor alike before they dropped as one to the cushioning support of the bed. They came together, in those moments, in as many ways as they could garner pleasure with as much strength as they had, forceful and consuming to the both of them. It was new and unfamiliar territory, with Cullen following Hadiza’s lead, tumbling her along the crimson and gold bedding, reveling in the noises she made.

            And her laughter… _Maker’s breath_.

            Once, when Cullen hooked one of her long legs over his shoulder she laughed and then gasped when he slid into her, hips snapping forward to bury himself, turning that gasp into a wail. Sweat glistened along her skin, strands of her hair clinging to her glowing face as Cullen rode her like a divine wind was at his back, the strong, corded muscles of his back flexing and rolling beneath her clutching hands.

            In the end, she screamed and Cullen had to cover her mouth, watching as her eyes rolled back, lids fluttering, a shudder traveling the length of her body, and that slick heat clutching greedily around his cock, milking him and coaxing him. He lost control then, and in a few quick and hard thrusts, spent himself within her.

            They lay together, a tangled mess of light and dark, gazing up at the high, vaulted ceiling of her bedchamber. Hadiza felt as if she had come apart and was just returning to herself, back into her skin, which still thrummed from the pleasure that had consumed her. Cullen panted at her side, chest rising and falling as it dawned upon him what had just happened.

            “What just happened?” He asked, his voice full of wonder, and strangely, the headache that plagued him was somewhat lessened to a dull ache. His thoughts came a little more clearly. Hadiza let out a tired laugh.

            “I think…that is what the Chantry would call a monumental display of wanton abandon.” She laughed at her own joke. Cullen found the strength to turn his head.

            “Do not jest. I…this is…this isn’t how I imagined this would happen. I didn’t expect it to happen at all, honestly.” He said softly. Hadiza smiled and propped herself up on one elbow.

            “Oh? Am I hearing properly or did you just imply that you’d been imagining this moment prior to its happening?” At Cullen’s blush she laughed again, but she did not miss the twitch of his scarred mouth into a smile.

            “Not…not entirely.” He said noncommittally and Hadiza laughed again.

            “Oh Maker! Cullen, we’ve just had our first tumble and you’re shy to speak of…imagining me in this way? Andraste’s ass this is adorable.”

            Cullen frowned, clearly disapproving of her jest. She covered her mouth to stifle her giggling.

            “I imagined that our first ‘tumble’—Maker’s breath I hate that term—would have been more meaningful than…this.” Hadiza drew back, her smile fading. His words stung her somewhat.

            “Am I to believe this meant nothing?” She asked, keeping her voice dangerously neutral. Sensing the change Cullen sat up, eyes wide.

            “No! Hadiza, never. I just…I assumed there would be a bit more romance involved prior to the actual act, is all. I would never presume to make you feel as if anything between us meant so little to me. I’m sorry.”

            Hadiza was silent a moment, regarding him.

            “The stolen kisses? The letters? The idle flirtation? Cullen if you wanted me to woo you with flowers and poetry you could have said something. I’d never presume to try and seduce you. I just…I don’t know…it felt…”

            “…incredible.” Cullen finished. “It was incredible. I just wish it didn’t feel so rushed.”

            “Unexpected fucking rarely takes its time.” Hadiza said flippantly and Cullen looked utterly scandalized. Hadiza grinned.

            “What? It’s not like either of us were virgins before it happened. _You_ certainly don’t fuck like it’s your first time.” Cullen’s face was red as an apple at this point and Hadiza cackled.

            “Thank you.” Cullen said quietly, trying to find something else to focus on aside from how beautiful the woman looked, all glowing dark skin and fever-bright eyes.

            “So what now?” Hadiza asked. “I’d love to just lay here and…” She gave a bashful grin, covering her face, “…Maker’s breath. I’d love to lay here and bask in the moment, but we’ve an Inquisition to run and you’ve an army to train.”

            With duty looming over their heads, the two reluctantly abandoned the damp warmth of her bed and retrieved their scattered clothing and boots. Cullen’s hair was sufficiently mussed and with some effort, Hadiza helped to comb and brush it back into some semblance of well-kept. Between these moments, they shared tender kisses, going back to being on borrowed or stolen time. They kissed and licked into one another’s mouths with an aching slowness that almost saw Cullen catching a second wind and taking her back to bed. They kissed until they reached the door to the main hall.

            “I supposed I should leave and give you time to prepare.” Cullen whispered against her mouth. Hadiza smiled, kissed him again, slow, saturated and dwelled upon.

            “I suppose you should.” She agreed. Neither one of them moved, however, and Cullen chuckled as Hadiza struggled to steal a few more kisses from him before he finally pried her off.

            “Maker’s breath you’re going to be the end of me. I’ll…I’ll return after our work for the day is done, if there’s time. For now, you’ve an Inquisition that needs its Inquisitor.” He stroked her cheek with a gloved hand, letting out a startled sound as she turned her face, kissed the leather fingertips, and smirked at him.

            “I’ll hold you to that.” She promised and Cullen left.

            Hadiza sighed and returned to her bedchamber. She’d need a nap before she returned to the arms of her duty, but as she lay in her bed, catching the lingering and fast-fading scent of Cullen trapped in the covers, she found that sleep was not exactly what she needed.

 

 

            Aja Trevelyan was absolutely nothing like her sister.

This was a truth the people of Skyhold were coming to grips with in the days since Aja’s dramatic arrival to the keep. Sure, she was tall and beautiful like her sister, but their features were where their similarities ended.

Hadiza was a keen blade, honed by the mental fortification of her time in the Circle, who hid steel behind a noble face and a willingness to do right by others.

Aja was a battleaxe that cleaved all in twain. She brooked no room for doubt as to what she intended or who she was. She was more rogue and were it not for the shared surname one forgot she was noble-born. Aja spent a majority of her time in the tavern, having got on well enough with Bull’s Chargers, all of whom reminded her of the crew of the long gone Siren’s Call. Bull himself was a marvel. She had never worked with Qunari nor seen one up close as her former captain, Isabela, had made a very fine point of giving the Qunari a wide berth.

It was on one occasion that Bull sat beside her to have a drink. This, Aja saw as a friendly gesture, and for all intents and purposes it was. She welcomed the company for now, rough edges and all.

"The boss never mentioned she had a sister." Bull said, taking a pull of the poison Aja could only assume was meant to kill a dragon but passed for suitable libation to the Qunari. Aja gave him her toothy grin, gold tooth winking in the flickering torchlights.

"Oh? I can’t imagine why. It’s quite clear I’m the more interesting of the two of us. Aside, it wouldn’t do for the Herald of Andraste to be seen as a mere mortal." She said easily with an arrogant toss of her well-tended locs. Bull laughed, raising his mug.

"I suppose you’re right, but I take it from the duel you two had that there was more to it than that. The boss isn’t exactly a die-hard believer, last I checked. Maybe that’s what gets Cullen off about her."

Aja wrinkled her nose in obvious distaste.

"The  _Templar_? You mean to tell me my sister’s being buggered by a stiff-collared, lyrium-addicted warrior-priest trained to kill her?!”

Bull laughed again, uproariously. “Oh you didn’t know? Ah well, yes. But that’s not important. The real reason I’m curious is because I know what you did that day.” Aja paused, brows furrowing.

"What do you mean?" Bull fixed her with an easy smile, but his eyes were serious.

"You threw the fight. You had her on the ropes and could have ended it almost four moves earlier. Why didn’t you?”

Aja’s knuckles turned ashen as she gripped her tankard’s handle tightly. How had he known? Qunari, as she had been led to understand, weren’t exactly the most observant or intelligent people in Thedas. But this one had presented himself as a brainless oaf, yet he’d been following every movement of the duel with ease to the point where he knew…

"I’m not going to tell anyone if that’s what’s got you panicked," Bull assured her, "But I’m gonna go out on a limb and guess that you threw the fight because you really, really wanted her forgiveness."

Aja hesitated again. “Yes,” She said after a long pause and a deep pull of her drink, “I did. If I had beaten her it would have made reopening the lines of communication nigh impossible, and it would have tarnished her reputation among the people.” Aja looked into the dregs of her tankard.

"I understand why you did it," Bull said to her, "The people need to believe the boss has everything under control, that she’s more than just a mere mortal. That means they can’t see her getting her ass kicked by anything less than an archdemon. I mean, she’s already gotten her ass kicked by an archdemon but you know what I mean." Aja glanced around the tavern. It was sleepy, small, and not at all rowdy like the taverns she was used to on her travels. She studied the faces of the people, all mostly native to Ferelden, and mostly from the tiny village of Haven that was obliterated in the first attack in which Corypheus had revealed himself.

These were her sister’s people, and they followed her blindly, faithfully, with conviction. They believed in her, that she could save them, but Aja knew her sister well enough to know she was only doing what was right. She didn’t believe that Herald of Andraste drivel anymore than she did.

"They need her, Bull," Aja said quietly. "I’m happy to help, but I needed her to get over…get over the past so she could push forward. She’s built up fifteen years of resentment toward our family; I heard how she dealt with those who were using her name to their own ends. I needed her to set aside the past and if that meant letting her beat me senseless then so be it." Bull dipped his horns in a nod, mayhap a sign of respect, mayhap not, Aja could not be certain.

"Quite the martyr you are. Still, if you had knocked her on her ass I have no doubt you two still would have worked it out." He slapped Aja on the back with a chuckle. "Be seein’ you around, Aja. Hey, drinks on me, eh?"

Aja smiled and watched him go.


End file.
